The Revolt: Volume II
by Van's Scribbles
Summary: Rose Weasley enters her sixth year in the midst of the Goblin's Revolution, surprised to find Albus and Scorpius as her closest allies. No one is safe anymore, not even at Hogwarts, and students prepare to turn soldier as the conflict breaks out. The Revolt will bring them together and tear them apart. Part Two of The Revolt series.
1. Chapter One

**A/N: Disclaimer – JK Rowling is the genius that owns Harry Potter and who keeps ruining my next gen head canons.**

 **A big thank you to DaftDruid, who so kindly volunteered to be the Beta of this story and worked meticulously to make this chapter run far smoother than anything my editing skills are capable of.**

 **If you find yourself here and you have not read The Revolt: Volume I, I highly recommend you go do that now. Enjoy!**

* * *

— **CHAPTER ONE—**

The cavernous kitchen was plainer than the original Order members remembered it to be. The tiled floor was dirty with neglect and the sink was bare. As Ginny swept around the table dominating the room, she directed her wand at the fireplace, setting a blaze dancing. The red flames reflected off the iron pots and pans hanging from the ceiling above, and lit up her flaming red hair. She walked around the length of the table, squeezing past those who were forced to stand (namely Hagrid) and sat beside her husband, clutching his hand tightly, out of sight, under the table top.

Ron and Hermione sat a few places away. Hermione was poised with the quill and parchment she usually used for notes. They gave Harry a look before resuming their conversation in low murmurs. Most of the room had been talking reservedly, but had fallen silent when Ginny sat.

"I'm sorry we had to postpone this meeting," Harry began. "We needed to get our situation sorted."

"You don't need to apologise," Katie cut in, from where she stood beside Angelina and George. "You've had a bounty on your head."

"Still. Two weeks is quite a delay," Harry frowned. "And I left you all in the lurch."

"Stop being so morose, Mister Undesirable Number One," George replied, rolling his eyes. "Let's get on with the meeting."

Harry studied the group assembled. It was the largest it had ever been in number.

There were the familiar faces—his friends, like Seamus and Dean, Dennis Creevey and Parvarti Patil, Katie Bell and Lee Jordan, Hannah and Neville. They were all looking at Harry with expectation in their eyes, the way they had on that very first day in fifth-year at the Hog's Head. He felt very young, very green.

His eyes met with Neville, remembering that it was he, Ginny and Luna who had led the rebellion at Hogwarts during their last year, during the final hurrah of Dumbledore's Army. A sudden pang hit his chest, and he leaned into Ginny's shoulder, Neville grimacing at him in understanding before looking away. They were missing one in their number.

Of course, the familiar faces were mixed with the familial faces. A row of flaming haired Weasleys were either sitting or standing in various points around the room, along with their spouses; everyone from eighteen year old Fred and Molly—he with his burly shoulders and dark serious face, and she with her chipped black nail polish and bleached hair—to the elderly Molly Weasley, a knitted shawl draped around her shoulders. Teddy sat a few seats away, his hands resting on the table in front of him, his eyes determined and protective. Remus' eyes, Harry thought. The youngest ones, old enough to join the Order, but hardly even adults… It scared him, seeing faces so young around this table once again.

A few of his former professors and colleagues were there too, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Minerva McGonagall and a handful of others, and under _their_ gaze, he felt even younger.

Only a few weeks ago, he had almost been killed by a goblin who had taken his place in the Ministry. In a way, the event had set his nerves on fire. He had been underestimating the enemy for far too long and it was time for action.

"We're officially underground," he began. "This will be our Headquarters."

"Charming," Seamus said, looking around the room. "Like what you've done with the place, Harry."

A rat scurried from the pantry across to the stairs and Ginny aimed a well-timed Stunning Spell its way. Parvarti squealed while Seamus erupted with laughter.

"We try to jazz things up best as we can," Ginny said, winking at her old housemates.

Harry ignored the rat on the floor. A part of him was convinced he would need the help of house-elves to straighten out the place. "I wanted to begin with making our cover story clear—that is, the Potter's cover story," Harry started.

"Let me do it," Ginny interrupted, sanding up. "I mean, _I_ thought it up."

"This'll be good," Bill mumbled to George. Fleur shushed them.

"Firstly, regarding our domestic situation I will be living with the kids at our house in Ottery St. Catchpole for as long as possible. Harry will stay here. This place is unplottable, so it's our best hiding spot from both the Ministry and the goblins. As for our cover story, Harry is supposedly on the run—"

"On the run where?" George asked.

"Spain, for all I care," Ginny replied. "Brazil. Haiti. It doesn't matter. We want to make it seem like he's gone pretty far, too, to throw off the Elite Squad's scent."

"We also want it to sound believable," Percy added. "So perhaps not Haiti."

"I dunno, Harry could do with a tan," Ron remarked.

"We'll sort out the finer details later. According to this cover-story, I have no idea where my husband is, so I ought to be convincingly unaware," Ginny said, silencing her brothers with a look. "For that matter, none of us have any idea where he is. And none of us knew he was behind the goblin assassination attempts, but we will act as if we believe the Ministry's story. We are as shocked and horrified as the rest of the world. I am the bereaved wife whose husband turned out to be a deranged assassin. Ron and Hermione are persisting with the rumour that Harry had a falling out with them after Ron was made Head Auror. As far as the public is concerned, we all think Harry is guilty, and if anyone asks, that's what we tell them."

"I can' say tha'," Hagrid interrupted, aghast. "He's one o'the best men I know! I can' say he's gone an' tried ter kill some goblin thug. Harry wouldn't do tha' in a million years."

"It's for the cover story, Hagrid," McGonagall growled, her lips disappearing into an impatient, thin line. "If any of us truly believed Harry is guilty, we would not be sitting in this room."

"Which brings me to my next point," Harry said, looking directly at Neville. "We need Luna."

The room was uneasy, especially among his old Dumbledore's Army comrades. Seamus and Dean both ducked their heads. Hannah sighed.

"I've spoken to her twice about it Harry, and she won't budge," Neville explained, his expression crumpling. "She's backing Gladstone the whole way, and she's still pro-goblin."

"Rolf isn't much better to argue with," Hannah added, biting her lip. "He may be wary of the goblins, but he's completely behind Gladstone."

Harry was quiet for a minute. He studied the wood grain to avoid the weight of their collective gaze. "She thinks I'm guilty, doesn't she?"

"She hasn't said that," Neville said quickly.

"But she thinks I'm behind the assassinations. It's why she's not here and it's why we haven't spoken for the last six months." Harry slipped his fingers under his glasses, rubbing his tired eyes. No one had it in them to say anything contrary.

Ginny spoke with her usual crispness, leaning forward to catch Neville's eye "I'll get Luna—I'll make sure she joins. I know how Luna's head works, and she's my oldest friend."

Neville seemed content with this, so Harry relented and Ginny sat back in her chair. Somehow, the idea of having Dumbledore's Army reassembled gave Harry a new source of courage. From so long ago—more than twenty years ago–their personal resistance was still going. What had Rita Skeeter once dubbed them? The Demob? He couldn't help but grin at this, before wiping a hand over his mouth to stifle the smile. "We have a lot to get through this meeting, so it's best we start right away—"

"Wait," the young Molly Weasley spoke out, her brown eyes wide and heavily blackened by makeup, half hidden behind a pair of frameless glasses. Her hand hovered in the air, as if she was asking a question at school. The entire room was still, all eyes turning to her. "I'm not asking because I doubt you, Harry, but before we get into the heavy duty stuff, what exactly happened that day at the Ministry?"

"Molly!"

"Oh, c'mon, mum, don't give me that look. I think we ought to know the whole story," Molly shot at Audrey.

"You don't have any right to question your uncle," Percy scolded.

"No, it's fine," Harry ran his hand through his messy black hair, thinking how to best condense the story. "She's right." He looked right into the face of his niece, where her freckles were hidden beneath her makeup. He smiled a little. Molly had always been the most wild of the lot, refusing to be tamed by her parents or any one for that matter. Even now, both her hands were balled into fists on the table top.

Harry launched into the story, starting first with his meeting in the Goblin Liaison Office with Grigarex, his suspicion that he was about to be poisoned. Garrett Cresswell's timely arrival, but the feeling that he was not himself, Harry's fear that he is now under the Imperius. As he reached the end of the recount, his pulse picked up. The memory of the claustrophobic elevator, the scuffle and the narrowly avoided green beams of the Killing Curse made his heart skip. Selgrut the Sly's assassination attempt didn't feel real.

He had underestimated the goblins completely. It couldn't happen again.

Molly nodded once, relaxing back into her chair. However, a few of the people around the room who were hearing this story for the first time were stunned by the recount. Dennis Creevey had looked particularly mortified at the fact that one of his Ministry colleagues seemed to be under the Imperius.

"I know that's a bit to take in, but we need to move on. Now; there are a lot of us here, which is good. This is not a war where two sides are fighting. We have a lot of different enemies, so we need different groups to take care of different operations. For many of these, we're still pretty much in the dark, but we will work with what we know. I'll have Ron talk you through the first."

Ron nodded curtly and addressed the group rather frankly, as if they were in an Auror meeting. "Gladstone's basically created a dictatorship. Soon, he'll have no political opposition. It's why he's removed all the Aurors and why he's practically decimated the Wizenmongt. Our first objective is to figure out his weaknesses before the goblins do, and exploit them."

Kingsley Shacklebolt lips contorted into a grimace. He spoke up from the other end of the room, his voice as slow and measured as ever. "Gladstone was my Senior Undersecretary, he was my protégée. When the time for elections drew near, I knew he would be vying for my position." Here, he looked directly to the golden trio on the other end of the table. "I always considered my ideologies on the moderate left, as Ms Granger knows. Gladstone…Gladstone has become the Stalin to my Trotsky."

Half the room didn't catch the reference.

"It was my fault that I did not try to stop him sooner. But I never fully grasped the extent of his character and ambitions until he was already campaigning. He was a Hufflepuff in his Hogwarts career; when he worked under me, he was quite preoccupied with non-human rights and obsessed with eliminating systematic inequality. He did not appear to be the sort to…"

"Establish a barmy totalitarian government," Ron finished.

"Indeed."

"Gladstone is protected by his Elite Squad, who are essentially a private army," Ron continued, referring to his notes. "The goblins being used have been given wands and visas in order to leave their Kingdom and take up residence in England. We can't be sure, but we think their team is made up of a few military generals from the Goblin King's militia, while the Squad itself are basically…thugs."

"Would Gladstone know that?" Percy queried.

"That his private army keeps company with Romnuk the Rough?" Ginny pressed. "Probably not. The goblin thugs have allied with the goblin monarchy, and the goblin monarchy has allied with the Ministry of Magic. Are you keeping up?"

"We have three separate enemies, then," Dennis Creevey frowned. "Who are just working together for the time being."

"And will probably stab one another in the back when the time comes," Parvarti concluded.

"So what are we doing about the Ministry?" Lee asked.

Hermione now spoke up. "Gladstone is currently using the goblins to carry out his ideology. We believe the two groups he is targeting are Squibs and werewolves."

This was met by muttering from various points in the room, proceeding like a swarm of bees leaving a hive. Several people called questions that were lost in the din, rendered incoherent. Harry raised his hand and silence fell.

"Gladstone's ideology hinges on the principal of one functioning working class contributing equally to the Ministry. Any enemy of the proletariat will be eliminated in order to create one equal, homogenous class."

"And how are Squibs and Werewolves enemies of the proletariat?" Seamus demanded.

"Squibs can't produce magic. They are a burden on society," Ron said, explaining the Ministry's logic. "Werewolves are an aberration—they take up resources and will never be able to hold down a job. We think these are the two groups Gladstone will target first—have _already_ targeted—in an attempt to marginalise them."

Both Percy and Audrey Weasley had gone deathly still.

"Gladstone's all about equality of outcome," Molly called out, half posed as a question and half as a statement. She turned towards Teddy and nodded at him. "Isn't that what this is all about? He thinks it's impossible to create equality of outcome for werewolves and Squibs, so the only solution is to get rid of them."

"Which is why children are going missing. They're all Squibs," Ron said. "Their parents were reluctant to tell us at first, but now we know. It was the Ministry that abducted them, and it's the goblin gangs who currently have them."

"Which is our first mission," Harry stated. "We need to find those children and contain this situation."

"I want to be a part of it," Molly Weasley said, immediately raising her hand.

"Me too," Fred agreed.

"Anyone who is interested in this particular mission, please sign your name on this sheet," Hermione instructed, sending around a piece of parchment. Although her parents hung back, Molly was the first to sign her name.

"Not ter change the subjec', bu' how're werewolves effected?" Hagrid asked as the sheet continued to progress around the room. "I thoug' they had access ter Wolfsbane Potion because of Gladstone."

"They do," Hermione piped up. "But I think it's a ploy. In any case, we want werewolves in the Order. They are a marginalised group who have handed over all their details to the Werewolf Registry in order to access welfare services. We don't think they're safe anymore."

"I can handle that," Teddy said, speaking for the first time. It was all he said. Harry only nodded at him once. "I can get in touch with werewolves."

"What's the next mission?" Angelina asked.

"We want to recruit elves in the Order," Hermione said, speaking up with clarity. A low, rumbling chuckle escaped Kingsley and Hermione gave him a little smile. "I'm obviously in charge of this one."

Orlick, their sole goblin representative, spoke up. "It's brilliant idea, considering the goblins underestimate what the elves are capable of."

"Exactly," Hermione agreed. "At the moment, elves _legally_ have access to wands, but no elves have bought any yet. The Ministry is also pushing to have mass-produced wand manufacturing—" this was met by a cry of outrage. "—but we want to try and use this to our advantage to get more wands to elves."

"I'll volunteer for your bloody elf mission," Parvati grinned, raising her hand.

"Me too. Although this sounds like S.P.E.W. all over again," Dean added, with a bit of a chuckle.

Ron barked out a laugh and Hermione shot him a scolding look, but it was all in jest. She snaked her arm around his shoulders and they fell into conversation with Dean and Seamus.

Harry half stood once more. "Those of you who have already signed up for assignments can leave. We'll contact you when we need you. Thanks again for coming."

Half the room responded to this by scraping back chairs or shuffling around the table to shake Harry's hand before making their departure. Parvati spent a minute embracing Hermione warmly before promising to be in touch soon. Dean and Seamus resolved to also heading off, but promised to visit Harry whenever they could. It occurred to him just how very alone he would be now that he was unable to live with his family. As each person drained out of the kitchen, he was left with the terrible feeling that his only company that evening would be the dead rat on the floor.

Soon, their numbers had more than halved, and those who had not been able to find a seat took one.

Harry looked over his notes at what he had left to discuss. They were at the bottom of his list now. "Before you lot go, I need a word about Hogwarts," Harry said, looking towards Neville, Hannah and Hagrid. "We don't have eyes there, and…this may sound like a personal request…but please keep an eye on our children."

"As if you'd need to ask," Hannah scoffed.

"James especially. He isn't exactly _unknown_ to Romnuk."

"Right," Neville nodded once. "I'll keep an eye on all of them. In fact, we need to tighten security around Hogwarts anyway. I'll get onto Drummond."

"An' I'll talk ter the Centaurs," Hagrid added. "We can use all the allies we can get."

"Beautiful. Well, you lot can go then."

"Keen to get rid of us," Neville winked, but he also dragged back his chair, and gave his friends half armed hugs. They spent a few minutes trying to push Hagrid through the kitchen door before leaving.

Harry was on the last item of his list. "Orlick, I hope it's not too much to ask, but I wanted a report on the goblins in England."

Orlick sighed, pushing his spectacles daintily up his long, narrow nose. "As you know, goblins are moving into magical communities—Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, Godric's Hollow—but it is unnatural for us to live above ground, and I know that many are unhappy about this."

"Well, that's good," Ginny said brightly, tossing back her hair. "I mean, if goblins are annoyed that they're having to relocate, that could become a potential reason they may turn against the King."

"Perhaps...But I would not hold my breath," Orlick said, smiling melancholically.

Harry nodded towards his godson, who was still sitting silently nearby, watching them intensely. He lowered his voice, so that Bill and Fleur would not hear from across the room. "How's Teddy going?"

"I'm ready," Teddy said, with contained conviction.

"He's not ready," Orlick sighed.

"I _am_. Reuben says so too. You can't even distinguish me from a real goblin. I can transform silently within a few seconds. I've nailed it."

Orlick began to count off Teddy's failures on his long, thin fingers. "His Gobbledegook is poor; he hardly knows any of the customs of goblin nobility; he hasn't been instructed regarding the Inner Circle of Elite. He is not ready yet, and I refuse to send him into the Goblin Kingdom until he is."

Teddy fell back into his seat, grunting with frustration. He seemed to be refraining from swearing. Orlick frowned at Teddy for a moment before turning back to his godparents. "I think he is ready for a test run."

Ginny leaned forward conspiratorially. "A test run? Doing what?"

"Spying on the Elite Squad."

Teddy sat up straight, as if an invisible string pulled his spine. The intensity was back in his brown eyes. "Yes. Yes, I can do that."

"I think that's a good idea," Ginny said.

"So do I," Harry agreed with a bit of a smile. "But it'll still be dangerous. You'll need to speak to your Nan about it."

"Right, because _that'll_ worry her less."

"And," Harry continued. "Promise me you won't do anything risky."

"Cross my heart and hope to die," Teddy said, crossing his chest.

"You just crossed your collarbone. And your heart is on the left not the right," Ginny chuckled. "And we hope you _don't_ die, Teddy, Ah well, promise's made."

Harry gripped Teddy's shoulder tightly, and the young man's face sobered. "This is need to know. All of the Order know you're running surveillance on the goblins but I haven't told them you can change into another being. A few Order members know why we're training you, but only the Senior members. Keep it to yourself."

"Keeping secrets is my speciality, Harry," Teddy said quietly.

The half empty room, filled mostly with a few lingering family members, dispersed as Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione all stood. Orlick picked up his briefcase and pushed in his chair. He looked directly at Harry, much shorter now that they were both standing. His small black eyes focused on his illustrious green ones with a look of respectful sincerity. "Thank you, for letting me into your Fidelius Charm. I realise this is the first time a goblin has ever been included in such an ancient Charm, and your trust means a lot to me."

"We have to trust each other," Harry said, with conviction. He took Orlick's hand and squeezed it. "You are the only goblin who is on our side. We can't afford to keep you at an arm's distance."

Orlick nodded, as thoughtful and impassive as ever. He slipped his hand out of Harry's and fastened his robes around his shoulders. "I will be in touch with you and the young Mister Lupin soon. Until then, take care."

Ginny slid her hand around Harry's waist as she watched the goblin retreat. She waited until they heard the front door click before she spoke in a low voice. "Do you really trust him?"

"After what happened with Griphook at Gringotts, I find it hard to trust any goblins. But yes, Orlick I trust. I think he has his own motives for working with us, and he wants to restore his rightful queen to the throne."

Ginny nodded tiredly, tightening her hand around Harry's waist until she was twisting into his torso and kissing him, very earnestly, on the lips. He embraced her in turn, running his calloused fingers through her red hair.

"Er, you're not alone," Ron snapped, shuffling along the length of the kitchen. His sister and brother-in-law broke a part, looking startled to find themselves in the basement kitchen. Teddy's hair had gone a bright pink, matching the colour in his cheeks, but he was purposely continuing a conversation with Fleur with only a hint of amusement. Ron was a bit less passive. "Get a room."

"If you insist," Ginny shrugged, grabbing Harry by the cuff of his robes and dragging him towards the door.

"Wait." Bill hastily made his way around the table, joining them by the doorway. His heavily scarred face seemed more deeply cut than usual, for he was frowning with concern. "Dom is nineteen and she wants to join the order. As soon as she heard that Molly and Fred joined, she wanted to be a part of it. Victoire gets back this weekend. Both of them will want to fight, and they have no experience."

"You don't want your daughters in the Order?" Ginny asked, raising her eyebrows as a challenge.

"Of course I want them in the Order," Bill replied flippantly, as if his sister had missed the point. He went on in the same concerned tone. "Dom was a Hufflepuff, and a hardworking one too. She's fit and strong, but she likes to play fair. That may prove to be a problem. She'll be good at hand combat, though, which we may need, considering the goblins will be wearing armour. As for Victoire, she's a loose cannon. When pushed, she can become quite reckless. But she's good with strategy and she doesn't crack under pressure."

"You want them to be trained," Harry said, as it dawned on him why Bill was telling him these details.

"They need to be taught how to fight. All of them do. Molly, Fred, Dom, Vic—even Teddy. This isn't Defense Against the Dark Arts, this is actual _combat_."

"Auror training," Teddy said, turning from where he was still standing with Fleur.

"Essentially," Bill stated. "And we need to teach them how to fence."

"How medieval," Ginny grinned.

"Trust me. Goblins will have swords as well as wands."

"I'll look into it," Harry agreed. "Ron and I have most of the Auror department behind us now. Perhaps we can get one of them to teach the younger generation how to fight."

"Good." Bill nodded, tucking his hands into his jeans. His tone did not deter from its serious rumble, but his face lightened. "This weekend we're throwing Victoire a welcome home party. You should come."

"It's difficult, Bill. I can't just go out and about anymore," Harry replied.

"Apparate straight into our house, we won't mind. And bring the Cloak if it makes you feel better."

"It will be _super_ ," Fleur said, taking Teddy's arm and dragging him towards her husband. "Zere will be photos from Romania and 'alf ze family will be there!" Fleur turned to Teddy, her nose inches from the side of his face and her arms still wrapped around him. "You will come, _oui_?"

"Me?" Teddy said, pointing at himself. He chuckled nervously. "Er, maybe not."

"Why iz zat?"

"Did we all miss the part where Victoire and I had a horrible break up?" Teddy asked, wiggling out of Fleur's grip. "And where she literally decided she preferred dragons over me? I think I might ruin the night if I were there."

"Au contraire," Fleur smiled her most charming smile. "'Aving you zer will make it a party!"

"I dunno," Teddy replied, biting his lip regretfully. "I just…"

"You're afraid of her now that she's become a crazy dragon lady," Billy chuckled, patting him on the shoulder. "We're just stirring you, Ted. We're not going to force you to come."

"Maybee _you_ won't, but zat doesn't mean I will not!"

Bill also said his last goodbyes before shooing his wife out after him, while she continued to protest _zey are meant to be_! Harry grinned as he watched them creep quietly down the long corridor. He turned back to Ron, Hermione and Teddy.

He would be alone tonight. He would be alone in this house full of so much pain. Pain passed down through generations.

"I suppose I'll see you guys…soon."

"I can stay with you," Teddy offered, clearly meaning it.

"No, it'll be fine. James, Al and Lily would miss not having you around."

"We'll visit," Hermione promised.

And then finally, _finally_ , it was just Harry and Ginny.

Harry slowly leaned back against the kitchen door, his head throbbing. The task ahead of him seemed impossibly huge. Cut off from the Ministry with no protection or back-up and needing to remain hidden or else he would be hunted. He felt seventeen again, hiding out in Grimmauld Place while trying to riddle out an impossible puzzle.

But this time, his enemy was not a single entity. It was multifaceted, with mutilating ideologies. It was a hydra, which grew a new head with each one that was cut off.

His sigh was the endless sigh of the sea. He was all-saltwater—sweat and tears, just enough to glisten. Ginny laid her hands on his chest, fingers splayed like small pink starfish. He inhaled heavily, the pull in before the crash.

"You're okay," she said, nodding slowly.

Harry let out his breath in another sigh. He nodded too. He felt as if he was wrapped up tight in a net, no means of escape.

"I miss them. How're they?"

"Lily wants to visit you," Ginny said, nodding earnestly. "Albus is…angry. A quiet kind of anger. I'm monitoring him."

"And James?"

"James is sulking because he can't throw a big seventeenth birthday party."

"He really has his priorities in order."

"They're okay, though, Harry. They're coping."

"Right." He ran a hand over his face, pressing his glasses into his nose. "Merlin, what I've put us through…James, Lily, Al…Rose and Hugo…They can't be involved. It was bad enough seeing Molly and Fred today."

She wrapped her arms around him, leaning in to kiss him gently on the cheek. "We will be fine."

"Mhm."

She kissed his other cheek. "I've missed you," she sighed against the salt.

Harry closed his eyes.

She kissed his fluttering eyelids next, then his nose, then his neck. Her hands slid over his chest and finished up on his shoulders. "I don't have to go back yet. Teddy will be there with them now."

"Mhm."

"We're in an empty house."

Harry kissed her, breathing with her, swelling under her, sighing as he pulled away.

"Yeah," he said.

"And I've missed you," she finished.

He had missed her, too. Two weeks was a long time to be away from one another. They kissed again.

They sighed and rolled like the sea, cresting and breaking. Salt in their eyes, on their skin, between their lips. And when they parted half an hour later he could still hear her sighs in his ear like an echo of the sea trapped inside a shell, and all he could do was stand on land, lonely and listening.

* * *

 _Dear Scorpius,_

 _I'm quite hurt that you haven't written to me yet. I realise that you're travelling, but surely you could have put aside some time to send me a quick postcard or note. I keep wondering if you've run away with some fit French bird and are having a mad love affair. I am a very jealous sort of girlfriend. However, my ire is short-lived, so I found it in my heart to forgive you for this potential philandering._

 _Here I am, starting with the letters. I know you promised me repeatedly that you would write, but you haven't yet, so I decided it's best if I write first. I was always better with the small talk after all, so perhaps if I begin, it will stimulate some sort of response from you._

 _How's France? I imagine you're having a grand time with your family and potential French lover, posing with muggle and magical monuments, discovering yourself, pashing your potential lover while you feed each other baguettes etc etc. I expect many details in your next letter._

 _You've missed quite a bit here in England. For instance, during this last week, I did the laundry, cleaned my room and played Gobstones with Hugo (he bested me twice, but I firmly believe that Gobstones is a game of luck, unlike wizarding chess, which requires cunning and strategy). Did you know that Hugo is the Captain of the Gobstone's Club at Hogwarts? His lameness never ceases to stun me and I fail to understand how we are related._

 _In case you struggled to read between the lines, I'm incredibly bored. Practically dying of boredom, and will probably be emitted into St Mungos any day now._

 _I haven't seen Albus—or any of the Potters for that matter—since holidays began. I had hoped that I would have seen my dear cousin by now, but I sense that he's being anti-social on purpose. Considering you're the King of the Anti-Social Hermits, do you have any advice?_

 _I've also written to all my Slytherin chums—Alice, Isabella, Zabini and the like. Unsurprisingly, no response from any of them. I suppose both Alice and Isabella aren't exactly over our end of year argument. I was half hoping André might reply, even if it was just to try and snog me. Ha ha. Did I mention how terribly bored I am?_

 _The only other person to send me mail these holidays is Meredith Maxwell. She sent me a letter two days into the Summer. Let's be honest, she is actually a better boyfriend than you are._

 _I hope you're well and enjoying the quality bonding time with the Malfoys._

 _Most Sincerely,_

 _Your besotted babe,_

 _Rose._

* * *

"For Merlin's sake, I'm turning seventeen," James cried, throwing his arms up in exasperation. He'd had this argument with his mother about half a dozen times since holidays began, but if James Potter was one thing, it was persistent. "I'm your eldest child, on the brink of being a man, and you don't want me to have a party?"

"Honey, you _can't_ ," Ginny huffed, throwing him socks to sort while she dug around the laundry basket. "We are supposed to keep a low profile."

"Just a few friends, mum."

"James," she said, in her warning tone, the tone her mother used to use on her.

" _Please_ mum! Ten friends."

"James, it's never just ten friends with you. It's never a small party. I'm sorry, love, we just can't. I promise I'll make it up to you."

"I can't believe we're not going to celebrate my seventeenth birthday!" he yelled, throwing his socks onto the couch furiously.

Lily left her bedroom, joining her mother by the laundry basket. She extracted a few of her own jumpers and began to neatly fold them. "Mum, can I visit Dad tomorrow?"

"He's in _hiding,_ Lily."

Lily gave her a crippling look. Ginny folded a purple set of robes over her arm. "I _can't_ tell you where he is _,_ Lily, Dad is the Secret Keeper."

"Can't I at least have a few of my Gryffindor friends over?" James complained.

"Oh, is he still going on about this?" Lily rolled her brown eyes and threw a few socks as her older brother. "Put a sock in it!"

"Very witty," Ginny said, patting her daughter's head approvingly. "Could've had a smoother delivery, but not bad."

James continued to ball up pair of socks so they sat in neat, little bundles. " _Mum_."

" _James_."

"MUM, PLEASE. I never ask for _anything_!"

"You— _you_ —never ask for anything?" Ginny repeated, mock-outraged.

"I just want a small party, maybe two dozen friends."

"You said ten friends."

"Fine, ten."

Albus also left his bedroom, but he did not stop by the sofa where everyone was sorting their washing. Instead, he continued towards the kitchen. His voice was drained of any humour, a flat monotone. "Face it, James. Even if you invited fifty friends, no one would come."

"Sod off you prat," James snapped, throwing sock after sock at Albus, and watching them merely bounce off the back of his head and ineffectually hit the floor.

"No one wants to be friends with us James," Albus called as he entered the kitchen.

James, Lily and Ginny were all silent in the wake of this comment. James continued bundling socks, dwelling on what Albus had said. He still had a few friends. Angus Finnigan had written to him since the start of summer, and so had Lorcan. But he wasn't very fond of Angus, who was a bit of a loser even if he was loyal, and Lorcan was still his best mate, but his family were all quite against the Potters at that time. It made meeting up with him trickier, a bit more awkward.

"I don't need a lot of friends, anyway," Lily shrugged quietly, picking up the stack of jumpers that belonged to her. Without looking at her mother or brother, she returned to her room with her clothes and clicked the door shut.

Ginny flicked her wand to gather up the bundles of socks that now littered the living room floor like soft cotton grenades. She looked back at James. "I suppose I should give you your birthday present early then, if it means getting you off my back."

"What is it?" James asked quickly.

"Oh, you'll be pleased."

She waved her wand, and an envelope sitting wedged between two books on their shelf darted across the room and landed on her open hand. "It's not twenty friends," his mother shrugged, "but I'm sure Lorcan would love to join you."

James snatched the envelope and tore it open, the look of an eager child at Christmas stamped across his face. Inside a birthday card were two tickets, along with two VIP passes. It took him a moment to process the words on them.

"The Bent-Winged Snitches?" James crowed gripping the tickets so tightly his fingers turned white. "Mum, this is amazing! Backstage passes, a meet and greet—this is _mental_."

"You're very welcome."

"Mum, you are absolutely bloody brilliant," James grinned, kissing the tickets with a loud smack of his lips. "How'd you get these? Their concert sold out a month ago!"

"Your dad thinks _he_ has connections, but I used to play for the Holyhead Harpies and let's just say I know a few people in the event running business."

James threw his arms around Ginny and gave her a squeeze, and there was more relief shared in their hug than anything else. Ginny's nails dug into James' shoulders and he gripped her back just as fiercely, eyes squeezed shut. "Sorry I'm such a little shit."

"It's mostly my fault," his mother replied, releasing him. "You inherited the ball-breaking from me."

James smiled, relief and then excitement flooded is face again as another thought occurred to him. Gleefully, he departed for his bedroom. "I have to write to Lorcan, he's going to be over the moon!"

James slammed his bedroom door shut, wrapped up in his gusto, and Teddy Lupin poked his head out of Harry's study in response. "Are we fighting or are we just being noisy today?"

"He's just being noisy," Ginny smiled weakly. She took a seat on the sofa and patted the space beside her. Teddy traipsed over, falling onto the cushions and knocking half the washing onto the floor. Between muttered apologies, he hastily returned the folded clothes to their hamper. He faced his godmother with a smile. "So, what's James so pleased about? You didn't give in on the big party request, did you?"

"No, I just gave him his birthday gift a couple of days early to keep him quiet."

Teddy raised his eyebrows. "And?"

"Two backstage tickets for The Bent-Winged Snitches."

Teddy's face fell. He almost looked mad. "Gin, I had a spare VIP pass. Why didn't you ask me?"

"Oh. I thought you were going to use that."

"No, I'm going to the concert alone," Teddy said, genuinely peeved. "Aren't you supposed to give a wizard a watch when he comes of age?"

"I was going to, but my mum and dad got him a watch," Ginny explained. "It doesn't matter. Keep the VIP pass, Teddy. You may end up using it." There was a bit of a twinkle in her eyes.

"Or I could sell it to someone on the day of the concert," he mused thoughtfully.

Ginny's wane smile faded and she clutched his hand in her own for a moment, patting it twice. Teddy didn't really seem to process her expression properly, misreading it. "I should leave here soon, I know."

"No—Teddy, we love having you here."

"I feel like I'm taking up space here. I mean, I'm sleeping in a camp bed in Harry's study."

Ginny grinned. "Lily offered you to share."

"Somehow, I think I would get on her nerves," Teddy grinned.

"Stay a little longer. The kids like your company." She bit her lip and leaned in closer to Teddy. The blue haired boy she had once carried on her hip and swung through the air was now a man beside her, and it made her feel old. Still, with his eternal youth, Teddy leaned in, brown eyes wide with anticipation. Ginny made her request in a low voice. "Can you watch Al for me? I'm really worried about him."

"About his depressed angst routine? Don't worry, we all go through that around sixteen."

"I'm going to insist you share with him."

"I don't want to invade his privacy," Teddy said quickly.

"Well _I_ do. I don't like him locking himself up alone all day. You're going to stay in his room and look out for him, alright? Teddy—it's the least you can do for us."

"Holy Helga. Stop with the guilt trip. I'll do it."

"Thank you."

Ginny ran a hand over his cerulean locks and leaned back into the sofa, sighing heavily. Teddy swatted her hand away, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a crooked smile. "I have to meet up with Orlick tonight," he said before making a few expressions that communicated his true feelings about the matter.

"Spy training isn't as cool as you hoped?" Ginny prodded.

"I'm learning one of the most guttural languages known to magical kind," Teddy replied dryly. "I'm an adaptable person, but this is testing my abilities a bit."

"What are you two conspiring about?" Albus asked suspiciously leaning on the doorjamb of the kitchen.

Teddy and Ginny both looked over their shoulders. He was munching on a sandwich, one leg crossed over the other, his skinny jeans bunched around the ankles. Despite how hot the last few days had been, Albus was incredibly pale. It wasn't so much an issue that he had not left the house, but that he had not even left this room. His mother went to speak but Teddy spoke over her.

"Sorry about this, Al, but I'm going to be moving into your room."

Albus hesitated, confused for a moment. Then his face darkened. He turned to his mother. "I don't need a babysitter."

"I asked," Teddy lied before Ginny could protest. "I was staying in your room before you came back from Hogwarts. Your dad's study's just way too cramped. And I get along better with you than James—don't tell him that though."

Albus didn't appear to be buying it, largely because Teddy and James got on like a house on fire. He was glaring at Teddy as if he were a traitor. "Fine," he said stiffly. "I'll go clear some space for your bed."

"He hates me," Ginny sighed heavily as her son slammed his bedroom door behind him, almost as loudly as James had. Teddy relaxed back into the sofa.

"No, he doesn't. He was always close to Harry and he feels…betrayed, I suppose. He'll move past it."

"Promise me you won't breathe a word of Order business to him," Ginny pleaded. "Harry doesn't want any of the kids in the loop."

"Not even James?"

"None of them."

Teddy shook his head. Protecting the kids still at Hogwarts seemed futile, as most of them wouldn't remain there for long. And once they could, he was certain they would join the Order. Just like Molly, Fred and Dom. James, Albus and Rose would be soon to follow, in a year or two. "They'll all be seventeen soon."

"They're not seventeen yet."

* * *

 _Dear besotted babe,_

 _Firstly, I hope you used that appellation ironically. I sure did._

 _Secondly, it has literally been a week since I last saw you. I think the tone of your last letter was a bit unwarranted. Nonetheless, I'm replying with haste, as I imagine it'll take your owl a few days to get back to you (and he's resting at the moment, very irritable, it's quite a long trip.)_

 _Do you not know me at all? A French lover? Quality bonding time with my family? To paint a more realistic picture, I've spent the last week reading profusely, both muggle and magical literature, and pining over my house-elves. I really do miss them. Hotel staff just don't do as good a job at pressing my robes. I wonder if Millie and Tasper miss me, too._

 _What can I say? Paris is a let down. It's exceptionally dirty, which has given me anxiety. They leave rubbish out in the middle of the road. England is incredibly clean by contrast. Also, "the city of love" label is rubbish. It's hardly romantic when you're walking through the streets with your parents._

 _We did a muggle bus tour of the city when we first arrived. We saw some of the monuments—the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe to name a few—but that was rather unexciting. Mum and dad complained the whole time about travelling on muggle transport._

 _Yesterday we did a big tour of Paris and surrounding countryside with a magical guide. That was far better. Personally, the highlight of the daytrip was visiting the French National Quidditch Stadium, which to muggle eyes resembles the façade of the Château de Versailles, with opulent gardens covering the field. The Quiberon Quafflepunchers were training while we were there, and they stopped to have a bit of a meet and greet. I'm not sure if you follow international Quidditch teams as closely as I do, but the Quafflepunchers are renowned for their flamboyant moves and—perhaps here I should be a bit more rueful—being a predominantly female team. They were quite fit, both in regard to their physical prowess on the pitch as well as…well…you know. Let's just say I would have willing shared a baguette with them._

 _Regarding Albus, it's only been two weeks since his father went on the run, so his isolation is understandable. The best time to have a frank conversation with him would be at a big event—a party of some kind—where there are a lot of people about. It's easy to have private moments at big parties. Isn't James' seventeenth birthday coming up?_

 _As for the other Slytherins—Belle has written to me already and expressly banned me from speaking to you. I'm sure she'll come around. She is terrible at holding grudges, and I suspect she's just a bit jealous of you. As for Alice, she'll also get over it. They'll come to their senses, just give them time and remain apologetic._

 _(Please never joke about kissing André Zabini out of boredom ever again, for the sake of this relationship.)_

 _I hope this letter relieved your boredom somewhat. If it didn't, on the reverse side I drew a picture of André Zabini sitting on the Eiffel Tower. Or perhaps the Eiffel Tower has been shoved up his arse. It's all up to artistic interpretation, so I'll leave things at that._

 _Warm regards,_

 _Your international lover,_

 _Scorpius._

 _PS. I think its best we burn these letters, because if anyone saw how I've signed off, I will lose all my integrity._

 _PPS. I went to give Volker this letter and he almost chewed off my thumb. I don't think he's happy about the return trip._

* * *

Teddy was selling ice creams in Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour when he saw her through the store's front window, walking by with conviction. His mind had been elsewhere (he was running through various phrases in Gobbledegook under his breath).

Still, he picked her out in a second and she arrested his full attention. Her fair blonde hair flashed like a silver river. Her skin was tanned, the freckles far more numerous than he last remembered. She walked by with a stride to her step, and as quickly as she had appeared she was gone.

Victoire had just shimmered into existence, like a mirage in a heatwave, and Teddy was left feeling utterly baffled. He knew that she would be returning from Romania over the weekend, but seeing her in the flesh after more than three months felt like a dream.

Perhaps she had come to Diagon Alley to find him at the Society of Social Welfare.

He immediately shut down this thought. Victoire had not only broken up with him, she had _left_ the country. She had made it very clear that they were over, and after months of dealing with this reality, he couldn't build his hopes up again.

They were done. It was done.

He said this firmly to himself twice before he saw her flash of silver hair through the front window again. This time, Teddy ducked under the counter to avoid being seen. He heard the door open and without a second thought, he closed his eyes and focused on a different face in his head, one that melted over his own.

"Er—hello?" she called, leaning against the counter, only inches from his hiding spot.

It was like a punch to the gut, hearing her voice. Like someone had ripped his throat open. Emotion pulsed through him and made him feel light-headed. Teddy hastily hopped to his feet, now resembling like the parlour's owner, Darcy Donne. The disguise was sufficient enough to fool Victoire, whose surprise was only caused by the shop owner's sudden appearance from under the bench. "Oh! Sorry, I didn't realise you were…under there."

"How can I help you?" Teddy asked, his voice shaking but high.

"I'll just have the Orange Marmalade, please."

She leaned against the counter, drumming her fingers against the glass that separated her from the various ice-cream flavours on display. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, and he noticed that she was surprisingly well dressed. This was all he took in, keeping his eyes down. In silence, Teddy scooped the ice-cream onto a cone. Adrenalin coursed through him as if he was about to enter a duel. The different ice-cream flavours seemed to pop, saturated and contrasted in colour. She hadn't noticed him—of course she hadn't, why would she expect to see him in an ice-cream shop—yet Teddy found himself as flustered as if they'd just had a confrontation. He could barely look at her as he returned her change.

"Thanks," she said with a brief smile, and then as suddenly as she had arrived in the parlour she was gone.

Teddy's heart continued to hammer, but he did not move. She took a seat outside, under one of the parlour's plastic umbrellas, and hastily ate her ice-cream. Her back was to him, so he could only stare at her glossy blonde head. She looked into her briefcase as if to check for something, then she stood. She didn't eat the wafer cone—Victoire never ate the wafer cone—and deposited it in the bin before retrieving her briefcase and returning to the main strip.

Words from the last time he ever spoke to her bounced around in his head.

 _I think the time apart will be good._

 _If you think this is best, then you should go._

 _I think we need to go on a break._

All those _I thinks_. Then it was done. She was gone. He had let her go.

He was supposed to let her go now, too.

Without pausing to think, Teddy changed his appearance once more—male, taller in height, hooked nose—and pulled off his apron. He was out of the parlour in seconds, only pausing to flip the sign on the door so it read _back in five minutes_.

The streaming sunlight blinded him as he hit the main street. He shielded his eyes with his hand. She was much further down the strip, walking with purpose once more, her briefcase swinging in her arm. She ducked into the Daily Prophet's main office. Teddy came to a halt, some meters away, hovering by a vendor stall on the street. She was in there for a while. It was enough time that Teddy's flight and fight instinct was wearing off and being replaced with rationale thought. He was beginning to think he was being rather neurotic, hanging about in disguise to spy on her. This is what crazy people did, what abusive boyfriends did, what over-protective parents did.

Surely, this was not healthy, nor conducive to letting go.

He was about to return to his abandoned work-post when he noticed her leave the office, looking all in a flurry. With her face set, she walked briskly down the office steps and headed further down the strip, pushing past people. Teddy hastily pursued, closer now and less embarrassed to look at her.

Victoire had changed. Not in a perceptible way. He couldn't put it down to just one thing. She just seemed different—older. Her tight pencil skirt hugged her hips, and she was not wearing full-length robes, but rather a shawl pinned at her throat. Her lips were painted a dark plum. As he got closer, he noticed that she had pierced her upper lobe and helix, two simple diamond studs glistening there beside the standard earrings she usually wore. But these things were purely physical, and they weren't the source of her change.

He fell back and stood along the other side of the street. His eyes continued to roam over her, hungry for details. She was wearing a pair of heels that were made from dark green dragon-hide. He wondered if she had bought them in Romania, or whether they were a gift.

 _I think we need to go on a break._

Was she as afraid to confront him as he was to confront her?

She reached a narrow building that had no particular sign. She entered and headed straight for the staircase within, the main doors swinging shut behind her. A few moments later he spotted her through the glass windows on the second floor.

 _I think the time apart will be good._

Teddy took a step back and breathed deeply. She was doing well. It wasn't up to him to disrupt that, to stalk her down and confront her. The time apart had been good for her. She was free from him. She had wanted space.

Teddy turned on his heel and headed back down Diagon Alley, hoping no one else had wanted an ice-cream in his absence.

* * *

The article she had written was flawless in its execution. She had gone over it at least seven times since writing it the night before. It was practically ready for print, and Victoire suspected it would be a short meeting with the chief editor.

Still, as Victoire strutted up the main street of Diagon Alley, she felt another wave of anxiety hit her. It was the same feeling one had the day of an exam, or the night before leaving a holiday destination; of something forgotten, ill-prepared or left behind. It was as if she were holding a Remembrall smoked up red but without any indication of what had been overlooked.

She stopped to get an ice-cream, unable to resist the urge to procrastinate for a few more minutes. While she sat outside on the plastic furniture, she hastily peaked into her briefcase. The article was definitely there. She had not forgotten it. The title was visible between the walls of her leather bag.

 _GOBLIN MADE TRAPS SNARE DRAGONS FOR TRADING_

Dragomir's low, gruff voice was still in her head, explaining what he knew to be true. The goblin-made traps around the mountains, designed to capture and not to kill. The letter from his Ministry friend, translated to describe how the Romanian Ministry had relaxed its laws around dragon trading to those who were willing to pay the sum. The suspicion that these dragons were not being used to guard gold or act as a security measure. They were being weaponised.

She wasn't sure for what, but she was certain that everyone needed to know.

Uncomfortably, she recalled the dictionary that had rested between their thighs, and the dark corners of his home in Roșuloc.

She pushed the thought from her mind.

Thinking about Romania made her head pulse. It felt wrong being back in England. Her body hadn't adjusted to the climate. Even though it was a sunny, clear day, she still shivered from the coolness of the air. The people were stoic and polite, lacking the warmth she had become accustomed to. And she missed them. She missed the five dragon-handlers. She even missed the dragons.

Charlie had promised her on her very first day that Romania would bring her clarity. He had been right. It had cleared out her head, and what was left inside the raw, cavernous hole where her mind once romped and wrestled was the still, silent and uncomfortable knowledge that she had gone to the Dragon Sanctuary to run away, to feel hidden and safe.

To be a coward.

Victoire was a wild beast, an untameable force. She could not live in a secluded paradise, as much as she wanted to.

She regretted choosing Orange Marmalade ice-cream, as the sweet citrus flavour reminded her of the days of her youth, where she and Teddy would eat oranges out in Shell Cottage's front garden, facing the sea. Things had been simple and innocent then. Wishing to banish those thoughts, she dropped the ice-cream cone into a nearby bin and set off once more.

The Daily Prophet's main office was a slim, familiar building. She knew her way around from her short time working there, and was already making her way up to the chief editor's offices. A few people stopped and waved, or tried to engage her in a chat (notably, all men) but Victoire refused to stop.

Almeidas' receptionist was sitting at a small table outside his office door. Victoire leaned against it, briefcase clattering with the wood.

"Hi, I need to speak to Ramiro Almeidas about an article."

"Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist inquired, not looking up from her typewriter.

"I work here," Victoire frowned.

"Yes, but Mister Almeidas does not see anyone without an appointment."

"He will want to speak to me," she replied, trying to keep her voice level. "Trust me."

"I'm sorry, but he won't see you without an appointment."

"Can you just—" she lowered her voice, trying to sound less as if she was talking to a dragon handler. "Could you please tell him that Victoire Weasley is here to see him?"

The receptionist sighed heavily, as if she had asked the world of her. Slowly, she filled out a memo and put it in a tray on her desk. It shimmered and vanished, presumably to appear in the corresponding tray within Almeidas' office. "You may wish to take a seat," the receptionist advised. "He may be a while."

But Victoire had not even moved across to the waiting room chairs when the door opened and Almeidas poked his head out. He was a handsome man, in his late forties, with olive skin and a long, straight nose. He smiled at Victoire, flashing his perfectly straight teeth. "My favourite correspondence writer," he sung, holding the door open further to let her in. "Please, come right in."

Victoire smiled pointedly at the receptionist before shuffling inside.

"You're looking tan, Victoire," Almeidas prattled, snapping the door shut behind her. Victoire had only been in his office once before—when she had accepted the job for Romania—and not much had changed since. A row of photographs along the wall showed the _Daily Prophet's_ chief editor with various celebrities, all signed and framed. She did notice that the picture of him with Harry Potter at the last World Cup had been taken down. "Oh, I adore the dragon-hide heels."

Victoire replied with one of her dazzling smiles.

Almeidas chuckled, taking a seat in the leather chair behind his desk. Victoire mirrored his actions on the other side of the desk. "You'd be pleased to know that your weekly articles in the Wednesday Magizoology column were quite the success. You'll be putting Rolf Scamander out of print."

"I doubt it," Victoire said flippantly, flicking her hand dismissively. "But thank you, Sir. It was a privilege to take up the correspondence position."

Ramiro Almeidas, as flamboyant as he was, could not be considered a stupid man. He picked up an acrid green quill and turned the feather between his fingers, analysing her with an unconsciously smug smile stretched between his cheeks, like a clothes line flashing several neat, white towels at her. Victoire smiled back, her plum lips pulled tight over teeth. Almeidas drew in a breath and spoke, voice lowered, like he was addressing a secret. "I don't believe you're interested in Magizoology, Miss Weasley. You did take Care of Magical Creatures at N.E.W.T. level, and you also volunteered to travel for the correspondence, but I don't believe dangerous beasts are where your talents lie. You are qualified, yes, but this is not what you would like to do. Which puzzles me, because you were keen to volunteer. We had only just taken you off the society pages and a few weeks later you were volunteering to leave the office."

"I chose to leave because of…personal reasons. Not any reasons attached to the _Daily Prophet_ , Sir. I—er—I broke up with someone. With Teddy Lupin. There's no point beating about the bush, I know for a fact that the public has been following our relationship closely for several years and I…" Victoire trailed off, hyperaware that at a very young age, her limited erotic experiences with Teddy Lupin had made it into the Prophet at the hands of Rita Skeeter. Her face turned a bright red. "I needed time away from England. I took the opportunity when you presented it."

"And you have decided not to resume your relationship with young Teddy Lupin?" he asked, his voice dropping several octaves.

"No. I haven't even seen him since I've gotten back."

"Well, I think you made the right choice," Almeidas said, nodding primly like a pleased father figure. "Teddy Lupin appears to have run off the rails recently. I'm glad you cut ties there."

"Oh." Victoire froze, wondering what he was implying. How had Teddy fallen out of the _Daily Prophet's_ good books? They adored him. Whenever they needed a representative from the Society of Social Welfare, he was the first person they requested for an interview. He was their pet.

She hadn't spoken about Teddy since her return. Her mother vaguely brought it up once and she immediately changed the conversation. She didn't know where he was or what he was doing, whether he was seeing anyone or still single. She didn't want to know.

Eventually, she would have to see him. There would be a family event—whether it was Christmas or her birthday or even her own welcome home party—where they would come face to face. Where they would sit across from one another at the table or bump into each other on the stairs, and it would simply be impossible to pretend as if they had never coexisted.

She was afraid of that moment. Deep down, she knew she was still seventeen years old and madly in love with him, and painfully ready to forgive and forget.

What she wanted to do was just forget.

Victoire cleared her throat. "I'm actually here to speak to you about an article I was hoping to run."

"Oh?"

She slipped her hand into the briefcase resting across her knees and withdrew the roll of parchment. Steadily, she slid it across his desk.

Victorie watched his face carefully. It went from apprehensive curiosity to confusion. His thick, curly eyebrows knotted together as he picked up the parchment and pursued it. His face became pinched and then aggrieved. Towards the end of the letter, a storminess had descended over his dark eyes.

"This can't go to print."

Almeidas' pizzazz had fizzed out, leaving behind a heavy displeasure. Gone was the charming wink in his eyes, the indulgent smile. He pinched the report between two fingers and neatly tore it in half. Victoire actually cried out and then strangled the exclamation in her throat.

"Who were your sources?" the editor asked.

"I can't—there's no way I can disclose them. But I had two separate sources and both are extremely reliable."

"This doesn't go to print and it is best if you pretend like you never had an inkling of it."

"With all due respect Sir, I don't see how the _Prophet_ can ignore a story like this."

"We will not simply ignore this story, we will _bury_ it. Am I clear, Miss Weasley?" He held her eyes and the tension made her shake, but still she did not stand down. She had never been so furious in her life. Eventually, her boss broke the silence with a disappointed sigh. "This is a matter of national security, Victoire, not an opportunity to get your big break. You can't put out an article that implicates goblins and several international Ministries."

"I think refusing to report on this is a matter of national security," she replied heatedly.

"Do you wish to keep your job?" Almeidas asked, raising both eyebrows. Again, Victoire did not respond, but continued to stare him down. This time, he didn't soften his tone. "If so, I would never breathe a word of this again."

Shaking, Victoire left the office. Her head was swimming and the sun's glare was far too bright. She wasn't sure where to go or what to do.

She wouldn't be able to approach anyone else at the _Daily Prophet_ if the chief editor was set against her. She was suddenly painfully aware of the direction that paper had taken. She had been wary when first joining the _Prophet_ because they tended to follow an easy buck over a serious story—selling papers for entertainment, trying to accommodate the public mood. Rita Skeeter was as good an example as any that the newspaper lacked journalistic integrity.

But Almeidas' words were threatening. They seemed to imply that the paper was no longer run by a need to satisfy the public and make some money. It seemed as if the Ministry was leaning on it rather heavily to get across the message it wanted heard.

Which meant she could not criticise goblins.

Victoire hastily took the steps back down to the street and continued pounding the pavement. She would just have to keep trying, start hitting sources that were not mainstream.

The next building she entered made her skin crawl, particularly because doing a short internship at this particular office over the summer before her seventh year had left her with very bad memories. _Lima Press_ was situated in a single, small office on the second floor of a nondescript building. Only four people worked on the floor, including an editor, advertising executive, writer and publisher. She knocked on the door and waited for a moment, pausing to look out on the street beyond the window, before she was addressed in a cheery tone.

"Victoire! Wow, you're looking suave."

She turned back to the woman leaning on the door, her tight curls bunched on top of her head.

"Annette. I needed a quick word."

"Honestly, look at _you_. You're so tanned! I heard that reference we wrote you landed you a job at the _Daily Prophet,_ " Annette said, a hint of resentment behind her chirpy voice.

"I was wondering if you needed a freelance writer," Victoire said, keeping her voice level. "I have a story."

"Ooh, what is it?" the woman cooed, still blocking the doorway. " _Witch Weekly_ is always looking for exciting features."

"It's about some stuff I dug up while working for the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary," she began, and Annette seemed intrigued, so she rushed on. "Dragons have gone missing, and they've found goblin-made traps set up to capture them alive. It looks as if they're illegally trading dragons to try and use them as weapons."

Annette nodded bluntly for a moment, her frizzy hair bouncing on top of her head. Her eyes were vacant. "Huh, well. That sounds rather alarmist, and it's not really what the _Witch Weekly's_ readership goes for."

"Yeah, but you guys have run serious articles before," Victoire nodded encouragingly. "And this'll be a bit of an international feature—a scandal in the Ministry, that sort of thing. Dragons are a glamorous topic."

Annette wasn't buying it. She bit her lip thoughtfully and then brightened. "Oh, how about you write an article about the Dragon Sanctuary as a honeymoon destination? We're running a feature next week reviewing the best magical places to visit when in love. A bit of danger, a bit of adventure, romance in the rustic countryside. What do you reckon?"

Five minutes later, Victoire had left the building, her head still pounding. She was swiftly running out of contacts, and she had a nauseatingly feeling that this information would simply be buried. That no one would ever hear it. That no one would ever care enough to bring it to the public's attention.

And the public would continue to stupidly, simperingly trust the Ministry and support the goblins. She tried to clear her head.

She only had one contact left. The Scamanders. But if she wanted to see them, she would need to prepare a little better.

* * *

It was a beautiful day, the sort of day summer spits out in a rare fit of clarity. No clouds, no chance of rain. Just perfect pale blue skies and rays of sun. Albus carefully polished his broom, basking in the gold light that slanted through his bedroom window. It turned his floorboards into a honey-coated chestnut and gleamed off his glossy Quidditch posters. The little space, now packed with two beds, was a box of warm light.

He was only halfway down his broom handle when Teddy entered without knocking. He flopped onto his camp bed, the door left open, and stared at the roof. The sunlight caught his blue hair, the glare tinting it to a faint, turquoise green.

Albus glanced up at his god-brother, then at the open door. He chewed the inside of his cheek, in half a mind of getting up from his bed to close it. Instead, he glanced towards Teddy.

"Good day at work?" he asked politely.

"Sure." Teddy blinked a few times, dazed, before turning his head to focus on Albus. He seemed surprised by the broom. "Are you going to fly today?"

"No. I just wanted to polish it."

"Alright then," Teddy nodded pensively, staring back up at the ceiling. "Just stay in your room and brood about how shitty the world is. Whatever makes you happy."

Albus couldn't help himself. He placed him broom aside and studied Teddy's long, lanky body.

"What's up with you? Are you stoned?"

Teddy stared flatly at the white ceiling. "She's back."

Albus was confused for a moment, but then he caught on. "Victoire?"

"I saw her today at Diagon Alley. I thought I was over her. I thought I was finally done with the emotional eating and crying and trying to throw out everything she may or may not have ever touched."

"Pathetic." Albus shook his head and gave Teddy's camp bed a bit of a shove with his foot. "You need to move on, Teddy."

"How?" he demanded, throwing his arms up sporadically. "How do I get over her? I've been trying since she left me and I feel like—like every time I make the smallest bit of progress—she didn't even really speak to me today and it totally winded me. I got back to the parlour and ate, like, four ice creams."

"Girls drive you mental. Honestly, you're better off without her."

"Better off without her?" Teddy repeated incredulously. He sat up, his bed creaking under him. There was a bit of that mania in his eyes, the kind that kept him going. "Al, what are you on about? After my Nan, she's the only woman I've ever actually loved! She's intelligent and hilarious and can whip me into order in about a minute and she's a bloody brilliant kisser—"

"Ew. She is my _cousin_."

"—And I lost her. I _let her go_. To bloody Transylvania! I let her go to bloody Transylvania and live with dragons. So I could fight for goblin rights. What was I _thinking_? I'm not better off without her, she's better off without _me_."

"You saw Victoire today?" Lily's high voice emanated from out in the hall. A moment later she was hovering at the door, her brown eyes wide with enthusiasm. Her plaited skirt brushed her legs as if she stood in a breeze. Teddy sat up to face her, the twenty-four-year-old man facing the fourteen-year-old girl. "Did you speak?"

"I saw her, and I followed her around for half an hour and then I left before she could see me," Teddy said flatly.

"Oh, how romantic," Lily sighed.

"She needs to get a restraining order on you," Albus snorted.

Teddy shook his head gently. "I thought I—not exactly moved on, but that I was prepared to deal with it. Seeing her again. But I'm not."

"You should come to the welcome home party," Lily implored, hastily crossing the threshold into Albus' room and taking a seat on Teddy's creaky camp bed. Albus immediately sat up, on edge. Lily took Teddy's hands and clutched them desperately. "It presents the perfect opportunity!"

"For what?"

"For a grand gesture!"

Both boys shook their heads and laughed. Lily grew quite stern.

"You're both perfect for each other. You just need to have a big grand gesture to win her back."

Teddy smiled at Lily and squeezed her hand, swinging it back and forth before letting it go. "I'll live even if I just stalk her softly from a distance. She wanted space."

"What she wanted was for you to grow up and you've done that, so go win her back."

"Mate, I reckon you should leave her alone," Albus advised, purposefully contrary to his younger sister.

"But what about big grand gestures?" Lily pleaded.

"Oh, grow up Lily," Albus sighed, resuming his broom polishing. "People break up. Things don't work out. If Teddy wants to move on, he should get to do that without having Victoire hang over his head like the biggest mistake he's ever made."

"Ouch," Teddy winced, as if physically hurt.

"They're meant to be, Albus!"

"There isn't such a thing as meant to be!"

"Just come to the welcome home party," Lily pleaded, focusing on Teddy instead.

" _No_. He wants to stay home!"

Lily glared at her brother, then at Teddy, before bounding off the camp bed and standing by the door, her fists clenched by her side and her shoulders bunched under her ears. She addressed both of them at once. "Your apathy is getting old and it isn't worth very much. Both of you need to grow up!"

* * *

 _Dear Scorpius,_

 _The Quiberon Quafflepunchers? I am throbbing with jealousy. I can't believe you met them! Honestly, if you wanted to snog Irene_ _Dorléac_ _I would have been there to cheer you on._

 _What are you reading at the moment? I've finished all our sixth-year textbooks already (I am_ _bored, did I mention my boredom?) and I am now leisure reading. I'm currently on Dicken's Great Expectations and it has not met my expectations. It is dead boring. It is worse than playing Gobstone's with Hugo, so I have given up on it._

" _It's easy to have private moments at big parties." Hmm, you mean like when you cornered me at your New Year's Eve party in the greenhouse? You know, you are a bit of a mastermind. Sorry I was high on a Cheering Charm and spoilt the opportunity for a serious talk. We may have gotten together much earlier if it weren't for that._

 _In regards to the party front, James isn't allowed a big seventeenth birthday—things are a bit risky at the moment, and I think his mum offered to throw him a party just for the family, but he threw a bit of a hissy fit over that. He wanted a big shindig with all his mates. He's going to The Bent-Winged Snitches concert instead with your close pal Lorcan Scamander. I think it's appeased him. You'll be pleased to know that I am not going to said concert, in order to keep up my running theme of boredom._

 _In regards to the party front 2.0, Victoire Weasley (Teddys' ex, my eldest cousin, you may remember her vaguely) has come back from Romania and we're throwing her a welcome home party. It'll be my first opportunity to see Albus, so I might corner him then._

 _I'm going to give Volker a rest and use Hugo's owl without telling him, which I'm sure he'll understand, since I'm such a brilliant big sister and all. He won't notice if his owl is missing for a day or two, right? Right._

 _Please try to french kiss a few Quidditch players or else this whole holiday was wasted on you,_

 _Rose._

 _PS. I'm actually really worried about Albus now. It's not like him to be so mellow._

 _PPS. Don't actually snog any Quidditch players. I'm a cool girlfriend, but not that cool._

* * *

Victoire's long, cornsilk hair was thrown over her shoulder, with two small braids on either side drawing a few locks away from her face. She was careful to choose her outfit—nothing too formal, as it was strictly a smart casual dress code, but something that would flatter her. A pair of tight, black jeans. A plain blouse and her worn leather jacket. In the half an hour leading up to the party, she thought about changing half a dozen times, gripped with the sudden panic that she looked silly, or all-black didn't suit her, or that people would think she was morose. Patiently, she talked herself down. It didn't matter what she wore. It was only her family that were coming, and there was no one to impress.

Still, she continued to pace around her small bedroom in Shell Cottage, the thrashing sea outside rearing and turning, the pale grey sky deepening into a dull black. She was anxious about the party, and mostly because she was concerned Teddy would show up. At around eight o'clock, she heard her mother turn on the Wireless, music humming through the walls.

From her room, Victoire heard a knock on the front door, followed by her father checking who it was. People were already arriving. She hastily discarded her eyeliner and dug around her closet for her dragon-hide shoes, slipping on the green scaled pumps and swiftly glancing herself up and down in the mirror.

"Lou," she called, fidgeting with her red lipstick, using her pinky finger to wipe the corners of her lips.

Her younger brother poked his head into her room. "Mm?"

"Who's just arrived?"

He disappeared to the stairs for a moment of reconnaissance before returning. "Percy and Audrey."

Victoire nodded, throwing down her lipstick and following him to the stairs. Percy, Audrey, Molly and little Lucy. She was grateful they were the first to arrive.

"You swear no one's invited him?" Victoire checked again. She had pestered each family member with this question half a dozen times that afternoon.

"Oh, we invited him," Louis said brazenly, his hand sliding down the banister. "Teddy didn't want to come."

"Right," Victoire said shortly, determined not to mention his name for the duration of the entire evening.

Her Uncle Percy and Aunt Audrey were still embracing her parents and handing over gifts and drinks. Molly Weasley, around the same age of Victoire's own sister, was already in deep conversation with Dominique. Victoire stood there awkwardly for a moment, studying the two teenagers before they seemed to grow aware of her presence. Dominique turned expectantly, brushing her strawberry blonde fringe away from her eyes. Molly reluctantly followed her gaze.

"Hey," Molly said shortly, sizing Victoire up.

"Hey Molly," Victoire replied, uncertainty. Although Molly could never be described as a warm person, she was rarely this cold.

Percy Weasley crossed the room and wrapped her in a prim hug, patting her back twice before releasing her. He smiled, fixing his glasses as he examined her tan skin and scaly shoes. "How did you find Romania? And how was Charlie?"

"He's really well," Victoire said, brightening. "He's expanding the enclosures. We got three Antipodean Opaleye eggs that are due to hatch any day now."

Percy nodded, keeping in place a tentative smile. Clearly, he was unable to appreciate this news as much as Victoire hoped. She faltered, wondering what he had expected her to say. She felt a pair of slim hands wrap themselves around her middle and looked down, distracted, to find one of the youngest members of the Weasley clan, Lucy, attached to her waist. There was a good decade's difference between Lucy and her older sister, and although everyone was aware she was considered to be unplanned, Grandma Weasley grew fierce whenever someone suggested she was an accident.

Victoire stroked her dark brown hair and kneeled down to be level with her nine-year-old cousin. At least the youngest of their kin was glad to see her back.

"We read all your articles in the paper!" Lucy giggled, clutching Victoire's hand tightly. Molly glared at her sister before turning away, disgruntled.

As visitors continued to arrive, Victoire began to notice that certain people were quite keen to avoid her, mostly her cousins. Roxanne didn't say more than a hello, James only paused to ask what working with dragons was like and Albus didn't appear to be speaking to anyone at all. Victoire hung back, munching on her mother's home made meat pies and analysing the small group now sitting on the sofas.

One never knew what to expect when the Weasley-Potter clan all come together. Usually a lot of noise, a lot of food and a lot of inside jokes. This party contained all three elements, but Victoire felt oddly on the outside of it all. To some degree, she had expected to be the cynosure of the event (it was her welcome home party, after all) but her family had divided neatly into little groups and were keeping to themselves.

The divisions were usually based on generation, then age differences. Adults stood around the dinning table, and children gathered around the sofas and armchairs. The older ones, Fred, Roxanne, Molly and Dominique all sat in a little knot, speaking in low voices. James and Rose were gallivanting loudly and rehashing old pranks, much to Albus' annoyance. Hugo, Lily and Louis all gossiped near the fireplace. Victoire was a little too old to sit with them, but a little too young to stand with the adults. Desperately, she tried to think as to why this had only now felt like a problem. Never before had she felt excluded at a family event.

She realised it was because, since childhood, Teddy had always been the nearest to her age, and the companion she spent the entire evening beside. Surlily, she took her mother's wineglass as she passed her. She was determined not to think about him, much less speak about him. He wasn't coming, and there was no point dwelling.

Hugo and Lily both sidled up beside her, leaning against the wall on either side. Victoire frowned, giving them both a thoughtful look as she finished her red wine. "Are you two speaking to me?"

"Yes," Hugo said, smiling knowingly. "Wanna show us photos from Romania?"

"Sure," Victoire grinned, pulling out her wand to Summon the photos. An album flew from her room, down the stairs and into her hands. She handed it to Hugo.

Hugo prised the cover open, studying the three photos pinned to the first page. The first was a picture of the grounds, the Chinese Fireball enclosure visible in the right corner, with Firecracker alternating between flicking his tail or shooting puffs of smoke up into the air. The smell of charred wood and earthy mulch, the grumbles and snorts of the dragons, the hot sun on her skin. Only a week ago, she had still been there, saying her final goodbyes.

"Who're they?" Lily asked, pointing to the photograph beneath. It was a photo of Victoire with the four other handlers, taken by her Uncle Charlie in the barn before their final day. Victoire was in the centre of the bundle, her arm linked through Krishna's. Adam and Sylvia stood on either end, and Dragomir was at the back, his arms wrapped around the entire group as if he could bunch them up like a piece of parchment and keep them in his pocket. They interacted in the photograph in the exact way they would interact in real life. Adam played with Krishna's hair to provoke her, while Krishna swatted him away in false annoyance. Sylvia squeezed Victoire, shrug her shoulders, tuck her free hand into her pocket. Dragomir readjusted himself uncomfortably, baring his teeth momentarily for the photo, before returning to his usual stern scowl.

She missed them.

"Those were the handlers. That's my friend Krish, from school. And that's Sylvia and Dragomir and Adam."

"That guy's _huge_ ," Hugo said, pointing to Dragomir, who even in the photo appeared to be seven foot.

"There's a rumour that he's part giant," Victoire said, privately convinced that he was. In a heated flashback, she could feel his hands, huge as continents, drifting over her bare skin. She had been the sea under him, rocking and sighing, and he had been the rock. Fixed, hard yet gently worn down by her. She brushed her hair away from her face, feeling it warm with the memory.

"Well, that explains it," Hugo said, continuing to flick through the pages. "Would you mind if I show the others?"

"Go for it," Victoire said. Hugo approached the group of cousins sitting around the sofa. They greeted Hugo excitedly, warmly receiving the album and crowding around it.

"We've all taken sides," Lily confided quietly, also watching the group. "Which is why Albus and James aren't speaking to you."

"What?" Victoire said, stunned.

"They sided with Teddy. They're both still mad that you've broken up with him."

"I don't—I can't believe—that's _so_ immature," she blustered, slamming her wine glass onto the table. The colour had risen in her cheeks. She hesitated, turning back to her young cousin conspiratorially. "Who else took his side?"

"Molly and Roxanne both took Teddy's side. Fred, Hugo and I took yours."

"Are you _serious_?" Victoire demanded, sitting up straight. "More people took _his_ side?"

"Well, I tried not to take sides because I want you to get back together, but Teddy's been acting like such a _prat_ that I decided to side with you."

"Why? What has Te—he done now?" she caught herself on his name.

"Ever since he moved in with us he's been all cheery around the house, but whenever _you_ come up, he becomes depressing and thinks you want space, but _then_ he follows you around! Honestly. He's all mixed signals."

"Wait— _wait_. Teddy is _living with you_? What about his flat? And what do you mean he _follows me around_?"

"He's been living with us ever since he left that werewolf girl," Lily sniffed, looking quite spurned. "And he lost his flat, he couldn't afford it. The whole apartment block was bought by goblins. And as for following you around, he saw you the other day when he was at Florean's and took off after you."

"At—at Florean's? No, I was alone there. I would've seen him."

"He was working behind the counter," Lily shrugged, her bob bouncing off her shoulders. "You must've seen him."

"He _works_ at an ice-cream shop?" Victoire spat. A girl had served her, not Teddy. But based on what Lily had said, it may as well have been him.

For all her resolve, the goal to not mention Teddy Lupin had failed miserably.

Her head was suddenly ringing with all these new details, and she was hungry for any scrap of information Lily could provide. Staying over the Potters, following Victoire around in disguise, working at an ice-cream shop. This did not sound like the Teddy Lupin she knew. Or rather, it sounded like some odd reincarnated Teddy Lupin from her past. The young teenager who trailed her in disguise while she was on dates with boys, the young wizard who used to get more ice-cream on his shirt than in his mouth. The Teddy she had fallen in love with, the Teddy that was her childhood sweetheart.

The Teddy who had apparently been living with a werewolf girl.

You prepared for this, she reminded herself. You prepared for the possibility that he would move on. You moved on, too.

Wasn't that why she spent the night at Dragomir's anyway? To move on? Although, nothing had really happened…

That was denial speaking, because something had certainly happened. They didn't merely chat about dragons and sip on tea. Something had happened between them, even if it was blurry and difficult to define.

A _werewolf girl_. Teddy was terrified of werewolves. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to place everything in order, but the sequence was foreign to her. It felt as if two different voices were arguing in her head.

Victoire scanned the room again, her eyes roving over her aunts and uncles, her younger cousins and her parents. Finally, her eyes found Rose, focusing on where she laid across the sofa beside Roxanne, deep in conversation. She had grown a lot since the last time Victoire had seen her. She was taller—and Victoire guessed she had some growing to do still, having taken after her father in the height department. Half of her curly auburn hair was bunched up in a bun, while the rest fell in frizzy waves over her freckled shoulders. Her arms were muscular, far more muscular than they had once been, and Victoire suspected she had been training for her position as Slytherin Beater. She stared for a little while longer before leaning in closer to Lily. "Whose side is Rose on?"

Lily followed her gaze and studied her cousin with just as much conviction. "I can't be sure. She says she hasn't chosen a side."

Victoire nodded. "I can work with that."

* * *

Some time later, when everyone was passing around the desserts, Victoire meandered her way through the room, darting between her chatting uncles and avoiding her siblings bickering by the kitchen door. She hastened her speed a little as she reached Rose, who was balancing a glass of pumpkin juice in her hand and trying desperately to slip into the kitchen.

Rose was sixteen but she was taller than Victoire—she beat her by at least three inches. It made her feel incredibly young, and a bit foolish, despite the many years she had on her. Victoire hesitated by the door, one hand clutching the frame, watching as Rose stuck her head into a series of cupboards.

"Hey," Victoire said, stepping into the kitchen and closing the door behind her.

Rose jumped and spun around, her hand still clutching a cabinet knob. "Hey! Vic, how're you? You seem…cooler now that you're back from Romania."

"Cooler," Victoire repeated, before letting out a shaky laugh. "Cheers Rose."

She smiled, her freckled nose scrunching a bit. They were both a little awkward, all alone in the kitchen, the party on the other side of the door.

"Er, Rose. Could I have a word?"

She moved towards the small kitchen table and dragged back a chair and Rose following suit. They sat opposite one another, like some odd job interview. "What's up?" Rose asked.

"I know that everyone's taken sides since I broke up with Teddy," Victoire took a shaky breath. "I was, er, wondering whose side you're on?"

"Oh, I don't take sides," Rose said simply. She folded her arms in front of her, along the table. "I never take sides. If I need to act, it's based on logic, not loyalties."

"Right. That's very…cutthroat of you."

"Not necessarily. I am apparently very calculated," Rose said, smiling a bit cryptically. "That is, when I'm not losing my head completely and punching people in the face, or pushing them out of trees. I tend to lose my calculated edge in those moments."

"Remind me not to cross you," Victoire laughed.

"If you're trying to win me over to your side, it's not going to happen. My loyalty is to myself and my family at large, and I think its best not to vouch for one person."

"Oh—no—that's not what I wanted to ask. I actually just needed a bit of an opinion. Lily is bias."

"Okay. Shoot."

Victoire leaned in, the colour rising in her cheeks. Even still, she held onto her solemnity. "Do you believe Teddy is still interested in me?"

Rose surveyed her, taking the question completely seriously. She dedicated a moment to really thinking it over. "Yes. I think so."

"What makes you say that? I mean, he's not here."

"He's having tea with his Nan," Rose said. "And his life has been kind of crazy lately. But I do believe he is still…well, invested. In you."

Victoire leaned back, nodding slowly. So the tea with his Nan was not a euphemism for he was refusing to come. The optimism that exploded in her chest was an inappropriate response, one that could not be controlled. She was glad. Vindicated even. "He's not here," Victoire repeated, this time as a reminder.

"I think he knew you wouldn't want him to be here," the younger girl explained softly.

Rose studied her intently, her eyes darting over the blonde woman's delicate cheekbones and pursed, painted lips. She truly was beautiful. Flawless porcelain skin and glassy eyes, spun over with unshed tears.

"I could have a word with Teddy, maybe gauge what's going on with him, and report back to you. Does that sound like a good idea?"

Victoire hesitated, her hands hovering over the table anxiously. "Maybe," she conceded.

"Okay. I can work with maybe."

* * *

It was ten past nine when there was a pop from the room upstairs. A few of the adults looked over their shoulders, gripping wands cautiously. Ginny disappeared for a moment up the stairs, and was accompanied on the way down by her husband.

A sudden buzz of electricity circulated around the room. It caught his children's attention, and without reserve, both Lily and James had launched themselves off the sofa and were running towards Harry Potter.

"Dad!" Lily cried, leaping into his arms. Harry caught her, heaving her up off her feet for one weightless second, as if she were as light as a feather. James threw his arms around his neck and his father gripped his shoulders.

Everyone watched the reunion, the delight of the Potter family infectiously spreading. The only person to remain back, nuzzled into the sofa and broodingly examining his nail beds was Albus Potter. Ginny's sharp eyes found him and stayed on him, but he refused to look up.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Harry began, but James instantly cut him off.

"Dad, I'm going to The Bent-Winged Snitches for my birthday!"

Harry laughed, ruffling his hair. "I assume that means the party planning has been put on hold." His eyes danced merrily from each face until he found Victoire, smiling warmly from the mantelpiece. He extended a hand to her. "Victoire."

They crossed towards one another, embracing in a short hug. Bill and Fleur also approached hastily and the rumble of conversation resumed once more. Harry studied Victoire appraisingly. "You didn't kill a dragon yourself to get those shoes, did you?"

"Oh, of course not," she giggled, her laugh surprisingly high.

"Victoire has a lot to catch you up on," Bill said, his deep voice filled with meaning.

Harry examined her far more solemnly now. "I'm sure you do," he said, pulling the young woman a little closer to the side of the room. Bill and Fleur gravitated closer to Ginny, speaking in low voices. Victoire took advantage of his undivided attention. She hastily relayed all her knowledge about the dragon disappearances to Harry, including even the most insignificant details. Unlike the journalists she had spoken to that week, he regarded her with the utmost attention. His green eyes were bright behind his round spectacles.

"Other than your parents, who have you told?" Harry asked, his face drawn with tension.

"I've tried to have it published in the _Prophet_ , but that doesn't look like it'll happen," she scowled.

"I don't think you should mention this to anyone again."

Her ears went pink. She was incensed. Was everyone determined to bury the truth? "I don't understand. This could change people's opinions about Gladstone and the goblins."

'It's too late for that," Harry said. "The Order can use this information, and we have set up intelligence inside the goblin units that'll hopefully give us answers about this."

"The only way to have a thriving democracy is to give the public the information it needs to debate and make decisions."

"Democracy is dead here, Vic," Harry said grimly. "I really recommend dropping this."

It was hard to believe she was standing in front of her uncle, the man who defeated He Who Could Not Be Named, the man who revolutionised the Auror Department, and she was being instructed to abandon hope for democracy. She was blank for a few moments, attempting to process this information, and in her silence she picked up what her parents and Aunt were discussing.

"…remove all your gold from Gringotts and put it somewhere safe," her father was recommending. "I know a goblin or two who will access your vault for you without putting it on record."

"How long do we have until it happens?" Ginny asked.

"Not long at all, I think. The Malfoys have already removed all their gold from the bank. Get rid of any goblin-owned objects as well."

"Zey cannot take ze tiara I wore for our wedding," Fleur protested. "Zat was your Aunt Muriel's."

"That's the least of my concerns," Bill snorted.

Victoire took a deep breath. "Things have changed a lot since I left."

She knew it, but it hadn't really felt real until now. Harry nodded sadly, and the silver hair streaking his sideburns looked far more pronounced. "You have no idea, Victoire."

Victoire frowned at her parents before addressing Harry. "I'm ready to join the Order."

* * *

Rose leaned against the staircase, effectively blocking Albus' route. She gave him a jaunty little shrug before handing over a cool glass of pumpkin juice.

"I think it's time we have a long, overdue chat," Rose said.

Albus remained on the step below, assessing her dryly. She looked quite casual. Her long legs, with their thick muscular calves, were clad in black tights. The brown t-shirt dress she had deemed smart casual fell over her thighs, the sleeves loose around her arms. She rested with her hip against the balustrade, her own glass of pumpkin juice in hand, her head tilted to one side so a single curl fell near her eyes. She was smug and self-assured and looked unwilling to move. When Rose was like this, she was unbearable.

"I don't feel like a chat," Albus grumbled.

"Sit down on the step and drink your pumpkin juice. If you like, I'll do the chatting."

Albus huffed and joined her on the top step, sitting with his knees near his chin, hunched forward like a gargoyle. He took a sip of his pumpkin juice and almost choked. "I thought this was pumpkin juice?"

"It is," Rose confirmed. "Spiked with scotch."

"It tastes awful together."

"Keep drinking it, the scotch'll kick in and it'll taste alright after that."

"I swear you're on the verge of becoming an alcoholic and you're not even of age."

"Hardly," Rose grinned, taking another sip of her drink. "I remember _you_ getting quite plastered at a party and taking off all your clothes and telling Lucy Bird you wanted to break up."

"If only I had," he groaned, taking a gulp of his disgusting cocktail. "Would've saved myself some trouble. Merlin's Cup always gets the better of me."

"You're not regretting breaking up with Bird?"

"Oh, I was considering taking her back," Albus replied with sarcastic introspection. "I really missed the way she used to possessively clutch my thigh and cheat on me as an obscure revenge tactic."

Rose continued to grin, the smile across her face becoming increasingly goofier with the more pumpkin juice she consumed. Albus couldn't help but return a wry smile, ducking his head. "I've been bitter."

"You have," Rose agreed. "It suits you a little. A nice change from being Mister Nice Guy."

"I was pleasant as Mister Nice Guy."

"You were boring. And a pushover."

"At least I wasn't mean, like _you_ ," he retorted, pulling a face. "Sometimes I envy Lily for getting to be friends with Hugo. I got the shit sibling."

Albus leaned against the balustrade and sighed heavily. Down below the narrow stairs, the rest of his family were mingling. He watched them mirthlessly, through the bars of the balustrade. Victoire wrapped herself in a scarf knitted by their grandma. His Uncle Bill was deep in conversation with his Uncle Percy. His eyes continued to search.

Rose studied Albus for a moment, the grin retreating from her face.

"Have you spoken to your dad yet?" she asked, slipping her hand into his and playing with his fingers.

"No. I've just avoided him all night. Lily and James were so keen to see him but I—I can't act as if everything's normal. As if he's been on a daytrip somewhere."

"Y'know he's not guilty," she frowned.

"Of course. Of course I know that," Albus said, but he sounded unconvinced. He returned to glaring into his cup once more, as if the answers could be found at the bottom of his drink. "You know how my dad interrogated that guy from the Bolt Terrorist Attack in our kitchen? I was there that day. I helped him with an alibi and I covered for him when the Ministry came around. I was there for him that day. I proved that he could trust me. And then he gets stamped as Undesirable Number One, and it's like I can't be trusted anymore," Albus seethed, taking another gulp of his drink and setting it on the step where his feet rested. "He hasn't told us where he's staying, he hasn't told us anything about the Order, he hasn't told us what really even _happened_ that day. He's just kept us at arm's distance. And that bothers me."

"Yeah," Rose agreed, squeezing his hand.

"And I mean, we're _alone_ at home now—all of us. Mum, Lily, James and Teddy. We never know what's going on, we don't know if he needs help. It's like we've been cut off."

Rose was quiet for a minute, studying his profile while she finished off her drink. She placed the empty glass next to Albus' half-filled one on the step where their shoes rested. "I'm not trying to be tactless," she began carefully, really meaning it. "But isn't your dad the one who's actually alone? I mean, all his family are together back at the home he can't stay in anymore."

Albus scowled.

"I'm sure he misses you. And I'm sure he trusts you. I just think that they want to protect us as much as they can."

"But they can't protect us," Albus said, glaring at Rose. "They just can't."

"I know," she said, her eyes growing despondent. "You're right."

She reached over and picked up his half-empty drink, taking the rest down in a couple of gulps. She handed him the now empty glass and exhaled heavily.

"Let's hang out these holidays," she requested quietly. "If I come by your place, will you promise we'll hang out?"

"Maybe," Albus agreed reluctantly.

"Good. I can work with maybe."

* * *

Hugo and Lily slipped out of the crowded sitting room and disappeared through the front door. The night was cool, the smell of the sea spray hanging on the air. The two cousins crossed the front porch and took a seat on the top step, admiring the shells that adorned the garden.

Hugo leaned his stocky shoulder against the whitewashed rail. He was really growing into his body now that he was fourteen. His once lanky arms were filling out and he was losing a lot of the baby-fat on his face, so that his cheeks and jaw looked chipped out of sandstone. His head fell listlessly to the side as he stared out at the dark sea, whistling quietly from the gap between his front teeth. Lily sat beside him, still looking like a young girl. She was lean and petite, conspicuously flat chested. She brushed her short, strawberry blonde hair behind one ear. "So what's the news?"

They were conducting a meeting of their own. None of the children at Hogwarts were allowed to join the Order, but that didn't mean they didn't talk.

"Dad's been feeding the Ministry false information about Harry's whereabouts. Told him that the last he heard from him, he was in Ireland and on the run."

"Have they been around to question you guys?"

"Yeah, to take a statement. You?"

"I think they're watching our house," Lily murmured, twisting the bottom of her jumper in her pale hands. "Any other news?"

"Yeah, actually," Hugo sat up a little straighter, facing his cousin. "Rose has been getting a lot of mail lately. She used my owl, and d'you know where she sent him?"

"Where?" Lily asked, sitting up primly to mirror his body language.

"France."

Lily's mouth dropped open. "Scorpius is holidaying France."

"How—wait, how do you know that?"

"I know everything about Scorpius Malfoy," Lily replied flippantly, stirring a wrist. "I know everything about everyone."

"Well, you didn't know that he and Rose have been writing to each other all holidays."

"I think they'd be cute together."

"No, absolutely not. They cannot be a thing. I refuse to let that happen," Hugo shuddered delicately. "I already think it's weird that they're friendly." He folded his arms and glared out at the dark sea, where the black sky melted into the horizon.

"I don't think they're a thing, I just _want_ them to be a thing," Lily corrected.

"You want everyone to be a thing."

"I just want people to sort their lives out and have successful relationships that I can aspire to. Ever since Victoire and Teddy broke up, I've had to refocus my energy."

"You live vicariously through people," Hugo frowned. There was a quiet crack caught up in the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks and he squinted out into the dark garden. The light from Shell Cottage only fell a few metres beyond the door, create a small halo of light. The rest was darkness.

"Perhaps. But I like the idea of Scorpius and Rose. They bring out the best in each other."

"You hardly _know_ him," Hugo complained. He abruptly stood up, fumbling in his sleeve for a wand. Someone had definitely Apparated. "Who's that?"

"It's young Edward Remus Lupin, heartthrob and millionaire."

Hugo tucked his wand back into his pocket. "You're not a millionaire," he said.

Teddy walked up to the porch, the light from the windows spilling over him and bathing him in gold. His blue hair was a softer hue than usual, closer to a seafoam spray than cerulean sky. He was wearing a pressed, button up shirt that hid the tattoos on his upper arms, which he now crossed. "If you measure wealth in gold, perhaps I am not a millionaire. But if you measure it in love—"

"You're still a poor man," Hugo smiled.

Lily launched herself off the top step and embraced her god-brother tightly. He picked her up with a false heave and bent knees before setting her back on the soft grass below. "You're heavier that I remember, have you been lifting? You seem like you've put on muscle mass."

"Shut up," Lily snorted, shoving him in the ribs. She barely cleared his shoulder.

" _Ouch_ ," Teddy sighed, clutching his stomach. "You really have been working out. C'mon Lils, play nice."

"I knew you'd come back to make up with Victoire," Lily said, her eyes brimming with hope. "I just _knew_ you would come."

"Woah, hold your hippogriffs, little lady. I'm not here to make up with Victoire."

"Are you here to make _out_ with Victoire?" Hugo inquired.

"No you little shit, I'm not here to make any advances on Victoire whatsoever."

"Then why are you here, Teddy? To enjoy the ocean air?" Hugo asked, gesturing to the black water.

Teddy inhaled deeply and sighed. "Partly. Also partly to clear things up with her."

"Right," Lily said, falling sullenly back onto the top step. "I suppose I need to find a new ship to sail after all."

"What is she talking about?" Teddy muttered to Hugo. Hugo shrugged discretely, playing none the wiser. Teddy hesitated for a moment, tugging on the jeans that were sliding down his hips. "This'll be weird, won't it?"

There was once a time where he spent every other summer at Shell Cottage. When he and Victoire were both children, and would swim at the beach completely in the nude, where they would chase gnomes in the garden and eat oranges on the porch.

Teddy and Hugo glanced at each other. "It won't be weird."

* * *

From inside the window, Dominique Weasley's face fell as she spotted who had arrived on their porch. She turned over her shoulder and motioned wildly to Louis, who immediately sprung to his feet and bolted across the room as if some sort of unsaid signal had been exchanged. He grabbed his eldest sister by the wrist and dragged her away from Aunt Audrey.

"Teddy's outside."

Victoire froze, her face dissolving into ash.

"What'd you want to do?"

She was still frozen, clutching her photo album from Romania. Louis grabbed the album and smacked her with it. "Oi! What do you want to do?"

"Hide," she decided. "Stall him."

"Alright," Louis said, ducking out of the way and heading over to his cousins. He motioned to Fred, who was lounging beside Molly. The two cousins could not look more different. Where Fred was dark skinned and freckled, with thick black hair and broad shoulders, Molly was bleach blonde, pale and lean. They both looked at the younger boy in front of them with same amount of attentiveness though. "We need a diversion. Teddy's outside."

Molly rolled her heavily made-up eyes and adjusted her frameless glasses. "Vic's not _hiding_ from him, is she?"

"Yep. Proving what a true Gryffindor she is," Louis said, a smarmy smile on his face.

Fred launched himself off the sofa. Molly grabbed his arm. "Why are you trying to stall him? She was the one who called things off."

"It's her party, Mol," Fred replied sternly. He sauntered towards the door, just as it opened and Teddy ducked in. Fred leaned against the frame and planted a thick hand on Teddy's shoulder. "Mate! How're things going with the goblin-talk?"

Louis looked around, but Victoire had already vanished.

She was up the stairs, almost falling over Albus, who was leaning dejectedly on the balustrade.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered frantically.

"Hiding," he said, resting his chin on his hand.

"Oh, good. Me too."

She sat down beside him on the top step.

"Rose just went to get drinks," he explained.

"Rose is back," Rose replied, hastening up the stairs, rather unsteadily. "What's up, dragon tamer?"

"Teddy's downstairs." Victoire took a deep breath. "I'm just not ready to see him yet."

Rose paused on the steps below with two glasses of pumpkin juice in each hand. She tilted her head curiously to the side. "Why not?"

Why not?

She was not afraid of him, nor did she feel guilty anymore, but a part of her, the part that was brave, wanted to confront him sooner rather than later.

She didn't want to see Teddy because there was still another part of her, the smaller and weaker part, that was still far too mad and far too attached to get through a civil conversation with him. Once she faced him, she would rage. She would rip into him, the way she should have done all those month ago. She would become a tempest. She had never really gotten mad at him—for all his absences, his obsessions, his poor choices. She left, she cried, but she never shouted. The urge to shout still pointed to the truth that she was far from moving on.

"Because I might hex him."

"Perhaps that'll help," Albus suggested, elbowing her knee.

"No, I need a minute. I need to figure out why he's here," Victorie said, sinking down onto the step beside him.

Rose studied her for a moment, her head still tilted curiously. She climbed the few steps separating them and handed both Albus and Victoire the glasses of pumpkin juice, as if doing them both a very great favour. "I will go do some reconnaissance. You just sit and drink."

"Rose," Albus said warningly.

"It's fine," she insisted, stumbling back down the stairs.

Victoire took a dejected gulp of the pumpkin juice and almost choked. "What's _in_ this?"

Albus sighed heavily, his head in his hands. "Why on earth would you just let Rose go and perform reconnaissance? She has as much subtly as the Knight Bus."

This was more or less true. Fred Weasley was doing a splendid job of distracting Teddy, holding him by the door while persisting in a conversation about his training with Orlick. Teddy was good-naturedly chatting with the dark, young man, although his eyes kept skirting around the room, leaping from face to face. They rested on Rose for only a moment before she had sidled up beside them both, draping an arm around their shoulders. "Hello gentlemen."

"Rosie," Teddy said, inclining his head. He paused. "Is that alcohol I smell on your breath?"

"No," she replied, her voice still steady. "It's simply the potent fumes of pumpkin juice."

"Ah. So I suppose I don't need to lecture you about the dangers of underage drinking."

"We're talking about Order business," Fred explained. He affectionately slipped Rose's arm off of his shoulders and linked it through his own in order to make himself more comfortable. She leaned against him heavily.

"Order business? I'm excluded then."

"Unfortunately. Until you're seventeen at least."

"Drats," Rose said pulling a face. "Freddie, would you mind me stealing Teddy away for a little chat?"

"Not at all love," he said, giving her arm a squeeze. Fred returned to Roxanne and Molly on the sofa. It was getting later, the party having winded down, and the atmosphere was much quieter than it had been earlier. Teddy watched Fred leave before leaning down to level himself with Rose, who still had her arm over his shoulder. He squinted at her suspiciously. "I have a feeling you've been sent to find me."

"Let's go have that chat," Rose said, linking her hand with his and leading him towards the kitchen. Teddy's eyes continued to dart about, alert and perceptive, the way Orlick had trained him. As he passed the stairs he noticed a pair of green dragon-hide heels on the steps below the landing, beside a pair of sneakers. Rose tugged him into the kitchen, which was far quieter, but his mind was still hung up on those shoes.

The small window over the sink showed the stars spotting the dark sky, but the inky sea could only be heard, not seen. Its crashing throbs beat the air, even through the thick walls of the cottage. Teddy leaned against the closed door, and Rose leaned against the kitchen sink. Her cheeks were glowing. "You're here for an interrogation," she said, grinning.

He squared his shoulders and pulled his most comically serious expression. "Do your worst."

"Do you want to get back together with Victoire?"

Teddy ran both hands over his hair and sighed. "Man, I'm really getting grilled tonight. Yeah, in an ideal world."

"Cool," Rose said, nodding plaintively. "But that's not why you're here?"

"It's not an ideal world," he said, with an ironic smile. "I came to speak to her, if I have the chance. Not to get back together with her."

"Okay," Rose said.

Teddy raised his eyebrows. "Is that all?"

"She wanted me to find out because she's hiding from you. But I would appreciate it if you pretend like I found out through cunning machinations and act as if we never had this conversation."

"Aren't Slytherins supposed to be cunning?"

"The _pumpkin juice,_ " the words surrounded by bunny-eared fingers, "blunts my cunningness."

Teddy mirrored her grin now. Pushing himself off the wall, he made his way over to the table separating them, laying his palms flat against the surface. He leaned in, as if he were the one interrogating her.

"In an ideal world, would you be in a relationship right now?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rose said quickly. "I er—I don't need to be in a relationship."

A very cunning answer, if there ever was one. Teddy laughed. "So it's an ideal world for you?"

Rose smiled, one side of her mouth twisting up higher than the other. "It's never an ideal world, Edward."

She returned to Victoire a little while later, relaying what she had gotten out of him, pretending that he had admitted this accidentally against his will. Victoire had finished her pumpkin juice and was drinking Albus' glass. She bit her lip and nodded slowly.

Her thick heels clicked on each step, a sound that easily drew the attention of the room. Several heads turned to look at her, both old and young. Hesitantly, Albus and Rose followed behind her, standing like bodyguards on the step above. She handed Albus the pumpkin juice over her shoulder and scanned the room. Her eyes found his blue hair just as he poked his head around the kitchen door, and he stopped and stared at her.

Bill cleared his throat. Everyone began to murmur again.

Victoire didn't speak. She motioned at the front door and Teddy nodded. Without looking at him, she crossed the room and left, and he followed on her heels.

As soon as they were out on the porch, Hugo and Lily darted back inside, snapping the door behind them. Their eyes were wide as they looked at their extended family. "It's happening!" Lily whispered.

In an instant, half of the room had launched themselves to the front door. James was digging in his pocket to unravel an Extendable Ear, feeding the fleshy string under the door. Molly was pressing her ear to the keyhole. Victoire's cousins, old and young, bunched around the front door like an eager audience. James was already making bets with Roxanne as to whether or not they would be getting back together.

"Let zem have zeir priv-ee-cee!" Fleur cajoled, looking quite annoyed.

George barked out a laugh and took the now vacated sofa. "The Weasley clan don't believe in privacy."

The adults absorbed the space that their children had now left, resuming their conversations easily. Still, it seemed even the adults had discretely taken sides in the fall out following Victoire and Teddy's break up, as they continued to cast curious or anxious looks over their shoulder, trying to judge what was happening. From the stairs where Rose and Albus still stood, their eyes found Harry, who was deep in conversation with Hermione and Ron, ignoring the distraction.

Albus ploughed down the steps and walked across the tight room, until he was directly opposite his father. As always, their similarities were striking. Albus' pale green eyes skirted Harry's robes, his grey hair. He was examining him patiently, not angrily. "Dad," he said.

Harry turned away from Ron and Hermione, his face immediately softening. He reached out one hand, planting it on his son's shoulder.

"I'm not okay with everything that's happened," Albus said, his face flushing as he said it. He wanted to say everything on his mind before his father spoke. He glared at him, refusing to acknowledge the heat in his cheeks or the discrete looks his Aunt and Uncle shared before edging away.

"I don't expect you to be, son," Harry said, running his hand from Albus' shoulder down the length of his arm. "I'm not okay with everything that's happened either."

Albus took in a shuddery breath, and for the first time in weeks, emotion played upon his face. His eyes, bereft and watery, were a swan song. Something in him, something innocent and full of youth, was dying. "You want to keep me out of this, but you can't." His voice shook with anger, with fear, with sorrow; with all of it, and none of it.

"I'm your Dad," Harry whispered, clutching this forearm tightly. "So I have to try. I have to try."

* * *

Victoire closed the door behind her with a click. Teddy stood by her, as tall and lanky as ever. At first glance, nothing seemed as if it had changed—he may have just had dinner with her family, complimenting her mum's cooking, talking business with her father, amusing Dom and Louis by changing his hair or the shape of his nose. It could have been any moment from their long history, plucked out and put on show like a Pensieve performance.

It was not, though. A lot had changed. It was there in the static between them, from the moment she had closed the door.

"Nice shoes," Teddy said, and then immediately looked as if he had regretted it.

"They were a gift from Krishna," Victoire replied curtly. Her voice was cold, the way it was when she talked to men who were far too interested in her.

Teddy's eyebrows knitted together but he hastily took a breath and relaxed his face once more. They were standing in the gold light spilling out from the windows, but night shadows danced across their faces. A dark patch hollowed out his cheek and hid the underneath of his eyes. He tucked his hands into his pockets.

It was as if they were both waiting for something.

Teddy cleared his throat. "I think perhaps an apology—"

"You've been following me around," she said icily.

This took him by surprise. "Who—" he faltered, and looked twice as contrite. "Lily."

"Why would you _spy_ on me?" she demanded, outraged.

"I need the practice." He said it like a joke before realising it was not funny. The laugh died in the night and, once more, Teddy cleared his throat. "Right, sorry for spying on you. I got a bit carried away."

"A bit?" Victoire repeated harshly. "You always get carried away, Teddy! That was always your excuse. As if all your bad behaviour was an accident. Nothing about you has changed, has it?"

"No, not at all," he said quietly, his brows knitting together once more. "I'm sorry for all of it. For being an absent twot and basically becoming obsessed with work." Victoire raised her eyebrows in disbelief and he swore under his breath. "I had rehearsed this in my head, it's just so shitty now that I'm here and…"

"Save it Teddy," she said, already tired with him. "I don't want to hear it."

"I'm not here to win you back," he said quickly, his face draining of colour. "I wasn't going to come tonight because I know you don't want to see me. It was just…I was with my Nan and she…well, it doesn't matter what she said. I just know I owe you an apology, and I also wanted to say welcome home, because I think everyone's missed having you around."

"I really doubt that, based off tonight," she said, scoffing more at herself than at him. Her anger was beginning to ebb now, dragged out by the sea.

"And," Teddy carried on, "I know we'll run into each other, since we'll both be in the Order. I thought it would be better of me to clear the air than to ignore you."

Victoire faltered, staring at him. His eyes were still in shadow, making it hard to read his face. "You're in the Order now?"

"Yeah," Teddy said shakily. "And I work at an ice-cream shop, so. That's my life."

Victoire chewed on the inside of her lip. He had left the goblin cause; he had joined the Order of the Phoenix. She half turned towards the door, considering just leaving him on the porch, missing the look of crumpling disappointment that flashed across his face at her impending departure.

She turned back sharply, and Teddy straightened. "We can try to be friends," Victoire said, her voice still sharp.

"Can we?"

"I dunno. Possibly. I don't have the energy to actively loathe you."

"Good, because I'm rubbish at being passive aggressive," he said, breaking into a charming smile. Victoire reminded herself that they were not getting back together, that Teddy was still Teddy, and that things had ended for a reason. He reached into his back pocket and pulled something out. "In the spirit of friendship," he said, "but also because this was a little welcome home present."

He held something out in his hand. Victoire didn't take it at first. In the light, it was difficult to read what it was, although it appeared to be a piece of cardboard, long and thin. Teddy began to bounce on the balls of his feet. "Er, please just take it so I feel infinitesimally less like an idiot."

She reached out and took it, turning it over. It was a concert ticket with a VIP pass to The Bent-Winged Snitches. Her heart dropped into her new shoes. The sea continued to splutter in the silence, spraying the air with mist. Teddy watched her carefully, chewing on his lip, his eyebrows knotted together once again.

"I can't accept this, Teddy," she murmured, her eyes still on the Snitch logo.

"Well, you must. Because I had a spare ticket and I was going to give it to Darcy Donne who is incidentally my boss, and who also threatened to fire me this week because I keep skipping out of work for Order business, so I would much prefer it to go to you. Considering you actually _like_ The Bent-Winged Snitches. Please take it, no strings attached."

"Alright," Victoire said, taking a little step back.

"Alright," Teddy said, nodding once as he shuffled towards the garden.

They paused again.

"I'll see you around then," Victoire said, her voice tight.

How she wished it wasn't.

"Yeah, I'll see you around."

She was ready to forgive and forget. She had always been ready to forgive and forget for him. Still, that wasn't what made her mouth taste sour and her eyes tear up.

It wasn't until she saw Teddy Lupin with his faintly blue hair and fluttery smile that she felt as if she had finally come home, and that's what killed her. Because England wasn't her home, Teddy was.

* * *

 _Dear Rose,_

 _Paris is bloody hot, much hotter than England, even during a heatwave. I am sunburnt, and Malfoys don't do well with sunburns._

 _Regarding my own literature pursuits, I've finished reading King Lear this week. It's one of Shakespeare's more tiresome tragedies, and being an only child, I struggled to relate to the sibling rivalries that drive the plot. Perhaps you would like it? Perhaps your siblings are plotting your downfall! (I doubt that very much, you lot are as thick as thieves, aren't you?)._

 _I did like Albany's final lines, "_ _The oldest hath borne most: we that are young/shall never see so much, nor live so long._ _"_

 _I prefer fact to fiction. I've started reading_ _Nicolas Flamel's_ _biography, which has been engrossing. We visited his childhood house yesterday on another tour, and they had a gift-shop there so I bought his biography. Did you know he met his wife while he was at Beauxbatons? He was also such a brilliant alchemist, evident from his school days. I really want to take Alchemy, and it's offered at Hogwarts if there's sufficient demand. I know Turpins requires at least five students to run a class, and I can't imagine there would be five students interested in such an advanced course of potion-making, but I am really, really, interested. I know you're probably rolling your eyes as you read this but, whatever, I like potions and plants. Deal with it._

 _Give up on Great Expectations. Life is too short to read crappy books._

 _I'm not sure what it says about us as a couple when I've dedicated half a letter to you just discussing books. Anyway…_

 _Tomorrow we're going to see the Hippogriff races. My parents will probably have a 'bit of a flutter', which in this economic climate, is a bit too big a risk for my comfort. In any case, dad loathes Hippogriffs, but mum loves them, so I'm sure we'll all be fraught with tension._

 _Oh, as for The Bent-Winged Snitches, I'm glad you're not going. They're a rubbish band. Isabella adores them, but she will listen to any music that's mainstream. I thought you were a Ministry of Madness fan? Also, I just realised the word fan derives from the word fanatic, and it's quite insulting to suggest a supporter of a group is fanatical._

 _Anyway, I loathe all music because I'm a snob. Take note._

 _We should meet up when I get home next week. Letters are grand and all, but…well, you're far more interesting than the Eiffel Tower. We'll take Albus out and do something, the three of us._

 _Your biggest fan,_

 _Scorpius._

* * *

 **A/N: Sort of a refresher** **chapter. I hope this reminded you of a few of the major plot points from last story. Also, so many next gen characters were jammed into this chapter, it hurt my head. I hope it doesn't overwhelm you. Next chapter will be more Rose-centric so hang in there.**


	2. Chapter Two

— **CHAPTER TWO—**

For Rose, the first few days of summer were everything they were supposed to be.

She slept until nine o'clock, allowing herself to indulge without wasting the whole morning. Her mother would leave breakfast out before going to work, so she would sit with her brother and father in the back garden, eating cereal or porridge or pancakes. The days started with the crisp smell of freshly cut grass and freshly washed linen. She then spent the afternoon reading books under the tire swing or playing Gobstones with Hugo when it began to rain.

The holidays soon became dull. The routine didn't alter but her feelings towards it did. She grew bored with breakfast, and so she would oversleep and wake up around noon. She had grown bored of books, having read everything she needed to for school in the first week. The days felt bottomless, unyielding and tiresome, as if she was pushing herself through a thick, muddy marsh with very little progress. The Weasley Bungalow dissolved from paradise to prison.

In the second week, she visited the Potter's along with Hugo, hoping that while he spent time with Lily, she could coax Albus out for some tea and chess. He refused to open his door.

All her cousins were old enough to be in the Order, so they never had time for Rose, no matter how many times she asked. All her Slytherin friends still weren't speaking to her, despite all of the apologetic letters she sent. She was utterly alone, confined to the house. She thought things would improve after Victoire's welcome home party, but they hadn't.

It was unfair that Scorpius, the homebody, was unwillingly adventuring through France. She thrived off his letters, which felt endlessly more entertaining than her own life. You'd think having a father in the Order and a mother spying on the Ministry would create a little bit more excitement.

Rose was itching for action. She was the impatient heroine, waiting for an exploit, waiting for a battle.

Instead, she was just waiting for letters.

"You should go out, love," her mother said as Rose collected their dinner plates. She had been wearing her pyjamas all day, as she had for the last few days. A pair of cotton shorts with snitches on them and a Chudley Cannons singlet.

"I don't have anyone to go out with," Rose replied glibly. "Albus is off sulking."

She had written to him that afternoon, asking whether it would be all right if she popped by. He had sort of promised at the party that he would go out with her if she came around, but he didn't send an owl in reply. How much space was she supposed to give him before the distance was too wide to jump?

"I'm going out tomorrow, in case any of you forgot," Hugo said lightly, getting up to help clear the table. Rose lounged back further in her chair, balancing it precariously on its back legs. Her father did the same from the opposite end of the table.

"Don't you want to meet up with any of your friends?" Hermione asked her daughter, setting the sponge to scrubbing the plates with a tap of her wand. She leaned back on the kitchen sink, facing her daughter.

"I dunno, mum. Isabella Nott isn't speaking to me—"

"Better off for it," Ron grumbled.

"And Zabini is off with the fairies as far as I'm aware."

"Zabini?" Ron repeated, almost tipping out of his chair. "Blaise Zabini's _prat_ of a son?"

"No one has responded to my letters," Rose frowned, ignoring her father.

Hermione did the same. "But you've been getting a lot of mail. Who's been sending those, then?"

Hugo grinned, leaning beside his mother on the kitchen counter. He wiggled his eyebrows at Rose, as if he was about to cause her a great deal of discomfort at the expense of his mischief. "Those are from Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" Ron hissed, almost toppling backwards in his chair. "Honestly Rose, what sort of company are you keeping these days?"

"I'm in Slytherin, dad," she replied, rolling her eyes.

"They write to each other a _lot_ , though."

Rose flicked her wand discretely from under the table. The dirty soap in the sink behind her brother bubbled up and splashed his back. With a yelp, he leapt away from the foam.

"What's going on with you and Malfoy?" Ron asked with a creeping tone of suspicion.

Rose shrugged nonchalantly. "We're mates. He's off in France at the moment."

"What about that little Chinese girl," Ron cut in, wiggling his fingers vaguely. "You know the one. She looks young for your age."

"Ron," Hermione sighed.

"Alice Lim," Rose supplied. "Yeah, she's not speaking to me either. In fact, very few people _are_ speaking to me right now. Hence why I'm eager to talk to Malfoy. It's not as if I get to be picky at the moment."

Ron and Hermione shared a concerned glance that neither of their children noticed. Rose was just glad the topic had been dropped, and she had given sufficient enough reasons to hide her frequent correspondences with Scorpius. Hugo had now dried the back of his t-shirt and was trying to rile Rose up as revenge. "I'm going out with Lily and Simon tomorrow."

"Rose why can't you be more like your brother?" Ron sighed.

"Yeah Rose, why can't you be more like me?"

"Sod off, you barmy little gerbil."

"Rematch at Gobstones after I shower?" he asked, ducking out of the room before waiting for an answer.

"Only if you do my laundry tomorrow!" she called after him. She settled back into her chair, watching her parents plaintively. They shared another serious look, and this time she intercepted it easily. Rose curled up onto her chair, knees tucked under her chin. "Are you going to lecture me?" she asked.

"We're just worried," her mother began.

"About your choice of friends," Ron concluded.

"No," Hermione huffed, shooting him a look. "About how antisocial you've been. It's unlike you, Rose."

"It's not my fault all this Order stuff has affected us at school," she accused. This wasn't entirely true. Perhaps students from outside of her house disliked her due to her family's current political stance, but the tensions existing between her Slytherin cronies had arisen due to drama she had created. Zabini preferring Rose to Isabella; Rose offending Alice by hiding her ex-boyfriend's affair.

Boy drama. So petty and mundane. The kind that ruins friendships and reputations. Rose pinched the inside of her palm. "Look, I'm sure you both weren't always the most popular kids in school. I'll survive."

As Rose said this, an owl tapped twice on the back window, it's beak scratching the glass. Ron rose from his seat to retrieve the letter tied to its ankle. He turned the envelope over and frowned, before extending it to Rose.

A thrill went through her. Was it a reply from Scorpius? But she couldn't read that here, not with her parents hanging about to read the expressions on her face. She dashed out of her chair.

"Wait a minute young lady," Ron began hastily circumventing her. "If what Hugo says is true and you're writing to Malfoy every day—"

"Hyperbole," Rose sung, flapping the letter at him.

"—then I would like to know _exactly_ what's going on between you two."

Hermione didn't intervene this time, but paused by the sink to hear her daughter's defence, a curious look in her eye. Rose's face went a bright, beetroot red.

"We're friends," she said firmly, keeping her eyes locked on her father's. They had the same eyes. She knew it would be a mistake to look away, that it would immediately reveal her lie. "Dad, you've _met_ him. He's a mousey little boy who uses personalised stationary and is obsessed with potions. Does he sound like my type?"

"I think you could do worse, as far as friends go," Hermione said, giving Rose a little nod.

Rose smiled back slyly, now backing towards the staircase. "You should listen to mum, she always knew how to pick good mates. She's still in touch with Viktor Krum, isn't she?"

"What—don't—young lady—" Ron blustered as his daughter pounded up the stairs, her feet almost skipping steps. She dived across the short landing to her bedroom at the end, a small narrow room that overlooked the back garden. She closed her door and sprawled across her bed, turning the envelope over in her hands.

The writing was unfamiliar. She could recognise Scorpius' hand in her sleep, and this was not Scorpius' hand. She wilted with disappointment. Scorpius had not replied for a few days, and although that would feel like little time to him, it felt like an endlessly prolonged interval when she had nothing better to do but wait.

Judging from the heaviness of the scrawl and the way the letters curved with blunt strokes, it looked like a boy's handwriting. With idle fingers, she tore the letter out.

 _Dear Rose,_

 _Sorry I haven't replied to your letters. These last three weeks have been hectic, and I haven't had a fixed address. And then I sort of procrastinated writing back to you because, you know, that's me for you._

 _I'm not doing fantastically at the moment, so I dunno whether you still want to meet up with me. I'll be honest, it' probably not a good idea. I just wanted to let you know that I haven't been purposely ignoring you (I'm no Scorpius Malfoy, as we've established about a million times) I've just had a lot on my plate._

 _Hope you're keeping away from all those bloody goblins. They're crawling all over the place._

 _André Zabini_

Rose crumpled the letter in her hand, suddenly feeling alert and uneasy. André didn't own an owl so he must have sent this from an owl post office. She turned the torn envelope over, searching the postal stamp. She would guess, based on the stamp, this had been sent from Diagon Alley.

Rose was itching for action and André offered the ideal opportunity.

* * *

"Whom exactly are you meeting with?" Hermione murmured again. They had Apparated to a narrow alley a little way off from The Leaky Cauldron.

Rose had woken up early, for the first time in a fortnight, and was wearing a denim skirt and a plain shirt, the first time she had been out of pyjamas in a while. Having almost overslept her alarm, she had dressed in a matter of minutes. Her red sneakers did not match her outfit, and her hair was an unruly mess of frizz, but she didn't care. It was early, not even seven yet, and she was not one to think about her looks before seven a.m.

She tried to answer around a huge yawn. "Just a-a-a frieeeend." She stretched her back like a cat and wiped the sleep from the corners of her eye. "Just drop me off at Diagon Alley."

"Alright," Hermione conceded, looking anxious. Her thick brows creased together. "But be careful today. Don't draw attention to yourself."

"Mum, you've pestered me to go out all week and _now_ you're acting over-protective?"

"Just have your wits about you. Keep your wand in your hand."

"I'm underage, mother," Rose said with a sleepy smirk. Hermione sighed, ushering Rose out of the alley. Together, they set off for Charing Cross Road.

"When do you want me to pick you up?"

"I can make my own way home," Rose replied.

Her mother looked stricken. "How? You can't Apparate and there's nowhere to floo."

"Teddy works at Diagon Alley. I'll just have him drop me home on his lunch break," Rose said, seething a little. Internally, she was grateful that this would be the year she would learn to Apparate.

Hermione hesitated, but as she would be at the Ministry late into the evening, this seemed like the best alternative. They were just down the street from the pub now. Tentatively, she leaned down and kissed Rose's cheek. "Make sure you don't wander away from Diagon Alley today."

"I'm all about self-preservation, mum," Rose replied, giving her a squeeze back. She took a few steps away and nodded once to her mum, who set off in the other direction, no doubt to Apparate to the Ministry.

It felt strange, walking up the busy street and effortlessly blending into the grey landscape and bustling crowd. The muggles passing by didn't so much as glance at her. Being ignored was not nearly as liberating as she expected. In fact, she was quite annoyed by the lack of attention, particularly after becoming a recluse since leaving Hogwarts. When she stopped outside The Leaky Cauldron, the crowd parted easily around her before coming back together, linking like a zipper.

Rose slipped into the old pub, a bell ringing above her head. It was dimly lit inside, but clean. She approached the counter on the far left. The tall woman with the sandy blonde hair looked awfully familiar, if far more casual than usual.

"Hi Matron Longbottom."

"Oh, Rose," Hannah laughed her deep belly laugh, planting both hands on the counter. "Please call me Hannah. We're not at school."

Rose grinned, sliding onto the barstool. The Longbottoms were scandalously cool, which one would never suspect just looking at them. Neville was a tall, cumbersome man who was obsessed with plants, and Hannah was a gentle woman who was hidden, for the most part, in the Hospital Wing. But both were war veterans and rebels; Neville had worked as an Auror and Hannah was the owner of The Leaky Cauldron, and when they weren't staying at the school, they were staying in one of the rooms above the pub.

Effortlessly cool.

"How're your parents?" Hannah asked.

"Fine, I suppose. You might even see them more than I do," Rose said, raising her eyebrows significantly.

"Right. Er, would you like a butterbeer? I'm not technically supposed to serve the drinks but the bartender is out picking up a few orders."

"No, I really ought to move on. I'm looking for someone actually."

Hannah leaned in, quite conspiratorially, resting on her elbows. Her face was quite plain, wide and round, the sort of face that is easily passed over. Rose noticed she had lovely, pale green eyes. "I see almost everyone who passes through to Diagon Alley. Care to describe them?"

"He's a student, so perhaps you know him. André Zabini."

Hannah smiled coyly. "Oh, I know him. Dark boy, rather muscular. He's right over there, actually."

Hannah pointed her long finger over Rose's shoulder. André Zabini was in fact over in the corner of the room, slumped against a table with a dishrag in his fist, but he was asleep. His cheek pressed against the rough texture of a table for four. Rose blinked at him.

"What is he—?"

"I didn't remember him from school when he came in," Hannah confided, her hair spilling across one side of her face. "There are only certain Slytherins I remember, the ones who come up to the Hospital Wing a lot. Meredith Maxwell is up there every few days, she's quite the hypochondriac. Norton was always coming up with broken bones. Isabella needed headache potion all through O.W.L.s—which reminds me, results haven't come out yet, have they?"

"No, not yet," Rose said dismissively, her results the last thing on her mind. "How come Zabini's here though? I mean, _here_?"

"He came in just over a week ago for some dinner but was unable to pay," Hannah said, as if this explained everything. "Neville recognised him. He hasn't got a sickle at the moment. I felt a bit sorry for him, said I'd let him stay in the inn upstairs if he helped out around the pub." Hannah frowned, the lines around her mouth deepening. "He's not seventeen yet, so I can't hire him as bar staff, but I couldn't just kick him out."

Privately, Rose marvelled at the goodness of Hufflepuffs, of their desire to help the lost causes... Because that's what André Zabini was; a lost cause. She slipped off the barstool, her sneakers hitting the wooden floor with a squeak. It was still early—far too early for anyone to have stopped through the pub—and perhaps the perfect opportunity to speak to him. "I might have a word with him, if that's alright."

"Well, if he's a friend of yours, be my guest," Hannah said gesturing towards the boy in the back corner.

Rose weaved her way between the neatly arranged tables. Zabini's dark, thick curls rested on his arm, but she couldn't see his face. Even still, she touched a gentle hand to his cheek and waited. Her skin was cool against the heat of his skin. When he didn't wake up, she pinched his neck hard.

"What the f—" he raised his head, eyes watering. Rose hastily withdrew her hand. André glared at her blearily. "Are you going to dock points?"

"We're not at school."

He blinked a few times, absorbing his surroundings and the cloth in his hand, realising Rose was not in fact dressed as a prefect. He threw the rag down and sat up, rubbing the back of his stiff neck.

It was bizarre, seeing him in this context. It was not the first time she had stumbled across him asleep or dozing, but it was the first time he looked vulnerable. It was nice, being the one in the dynamic who was not exposed. "Mind telling me what led you here?" As always, they didn't bother saying hello. They had never bothered with formalities.

"You mean," his voice was still croaky from sleep, "tell you all about my secret pain?"

"That's what I'm hoping."

"We can play patient and Healer if you want," he smirked, leaning back into his seat before stifling a yawn.

Rose felt her face heat up, certain that Hannah must have overheard. She cleared her throat loudly. "We won't be playing any games until you tell me what's up."

Zabini chewed his lip for a moment. His eyes darted over her shoulder, towards the bar, then towards the door, before he stood abruptly. "Not here," he said, nudging his chair in with his foot. "Let's go upstairs."

Rose had never stayed in The Leaky Cauldron, so she had no idea what to expect as they went up to the second floor. The corridor was long, with small rectangular windows throwing columns of light that lit up every dust mote like a tiny solar system. They walked to the very end of the corridor, past doors labelled _do not disturb_ , stepping over the room service trays on the floor. Zabini came to the door at the end, grasping around for a clunky key in his back pocket before opening it.

A musty smell greeted her at the door and almost made her stay put. Still, she followed him inside. It felt like stepping into a shoebox. There was a bed pressed into the far left corner, a sink on the right and a small cupboard-sized room that housed the toilet. There was no closet, but Zabini's haphazardly packed trunk, lid thrown open, rested against the other wall. He toed off his sneakers and sat on the edge of the iron-post bed, which groaned under his weight.

Rose hesitated, examining the small space with unconsciously judgemental eyes. She was no Scorpius Malfoy, raised in a manor with an army of house-elves to do her bidding, but this place spoke of squalor. Servant's quarters. All she had ever known was cleanly made beds and fresh sheets. What shocked her was how at ease Zabini was.

"This isn't a guest room," he said, waving his wand at the door, which shut behind her with a quiet click. Rose would have preferred if it remained open. "The other rooms are nicer. I saw them as the housekeepers were passing through. The Longbottoms are just lending me this for free."

"Awfully kind of them," Rose agreed. There were no chairs in the room, but she felt awkward standing, so she took a seat on the other end of the bed, weaving an arm around the peeling iron-post.

"How'd you find me here?"

Rose shrugged, shifting away from him. "Lucky guess, I suppose." She was beginning to grow accustomed to the smell.

André examined her closely, his eyes boring into hers. Rose felt the colour rise in her face, but still he persisted with his glare. "What's going on with you?" he said quietly, his jaw jutting out as he studied her.

"Nothing," Rose said, shrugging delicately.

Zabini continued to study her before losing interest, his eyes dropping to the quilt instead. He began to pick at the pale, grey fabric, his pink nails bright on his dark skin. "Has Isabella written to you since holidays started?"

"No, not at all," Rose replied, trying to sound light. "Has she written to you?"

Zabini looked up again, his slanted eyes piercing hers. "No one has written to me except for you."

A twisting guilt turned over in her stomach, like a clenched fist, and for the first time he was holding still enough to examine him. His dark skin hid the purplish bruise over his eye and the cuts on his fists. He looked on edge, volatile, like he may spring off the bed with a snake-like spasm at any moment. Rose felt for her wand, tucked into the waistband of her skirt.

"What happened to you, André?" she asked.

He leaned back into the groaning bed. "I'd rather not say. It would ruin all the mystery."

"Nonsense. Mystery bores me. I like substance."

André glared at her for a moment, sullen once more. With every small gesture or readjustment, the bed bounced and squeaked beneath them. The mattress was lumpy, springs pressing uncomfortably into her legs.

"Why did you come and find me, Rose?" he asked, the words in his usual grumble. "You made it clear you're not interested in me, but here you are on my bed."

"You were the one who insisted we talk upstairs," she reminded him.

"But I didn't invite you to see me. I thought you didn't want anything to do with me."

Truthfully, Rose associated André Zabini with a great deal of pity. She also felt they were kindred spirits, creatures that moved and breathed in the same way. It was all very stupid—poor reasons to like a person. Nothing of substance to base a friendship on, but she didn't really mind.

She gave him an alternate truth instead. "I don't have any other mates to hang out with at the moment. You were my last hope."

He laughed at this, an easy and careless laugh. He gave the iron headboard a squeeze with his cut up fist. Rose smiled ruefully. "I know what you're thinking," she accused good-naturedly. "I must be desperate if you're my last hope."

There was a beat of silence. "My mum is a drug addict," he said blankly, like the words didn't have any meaning behind them. Like they were just sounds that he was grunting out of reflex.

He was still wearing the ghost of a humourless smile on his face. "She gambles a lot to keep her habit going. She's in a lot of debt now, but she has no idea what's going on half the time."

"Oh," was all Rose could say, because that was not something she could imagine. The walls were thin, so she could hear the sound of people talking from the room opposite them. Quiet, muffled voices, like they were coming from underwater.

"It's not really my secret pain," he added for good measure. "It's actually common knowledge. All the teachers at school know, and Malfoy knows... You're the first girl I've told though."

"That's why you left?"

"Goblins don't forget debts," André said coldly. "And they came around to find us. She was so—so fucking off her face this time she didn't even notice them come into the house. She didn't even have a wand on her." His lip curled, disgust in the sharp angles of his face. His voice throbbed with anger. "They did, though. They robbed us of everything and said it still wasn't enough, that they'll be coming back. They beat the shit out of me. So I left the day afterwards."

"What about your mum?"

Zabini shrugged, collapsing back further onto the bed. He snorted, looking as nonchalant as ever. "She never gave a shit about me, so why should I give a shit about her?"

Rose forced herself to look away, trying hard to control the emotions on her face. She knew it would be dangerous to feel pity for him, because he would abuse her pity if she let him. She had to remain firm. "Don't you have any other family?" she asked as her eyes focused on the tiny cupboard housing the toilet.

"Loads of half siblings, but the little ones were taken away. Mum only sent me to Hogwarts because she realised I would be out of her hair for most of the year, except for the summer. But the little ones were too little to go to school, and it wasn't as if she would feed them at home."

He laughed coldly.

"No one else?"

"An older sister, much older, but I dunno what happened to her."

"Your dad?" Rose finally ventured, for that was whom she had been pushing to ask about. Blaise Zabini. Her own father had mentioned the name the evening before. Surely, he would be the one to take André in, even if their relationship was rocky.

The boy on the other end of the bed did not reply, forcing Rose to look up from the floor and turn to examine his face. His eyes were clouded, seeing right through her. He picked at the scabs on his knuckles. "Not my dad. I don't even remember my dad."

The voices from behind the wall were beginning to turn to soft coos and moans. The din attracted both teenagers' attention, their eyes on the wall opposite them. If the wall were missing, the toilet would have been pressed against their neighbour's headboard. After a second, a squeaking noise began, rhythmic and recurrent. A steady tempo, like a heart monitor. The groaning of the mattress matched the groans of its occupants. "Oh," Rose breathed, the heat rushing to her face and neck.

"You'd be surprised," Zabini said, as far from awkward as possible, "how often you hear people having sex in these sorts of places. Neville and Hannah stay in the room across the hall, and they go at it like teenagers."

Rose's face was burning so much that her eyes were watering. The sound of the man's grunts was loud even through the plaster. "You can hear them from across the hall?" she asked in a high voice.

"No. But I like to sit out in the hallway at night and listen in," she could hear the grin in his voice. "I'm quite the voyeur."

She felt a little sick. She covered her mouth with her hand. It smelt metallic, like the iron-posts of the bed.

Zabini was enjoying her embarrassment, as he always did.

"Let's make them uncomfortable," he grinned, the playfulness she was used to back in his demeanour. He kneeled on the bed, his back to Rose, while his fists clenched the iron of the headboard. She watched him with a flustered amusement as he began to buck his hips, shaking the frame so it groaned under his knees. Rose cottoned on to what he was doing. She grabbed hold of the post on her end and began to bounce on the spot. The rhythmic creaks of the mattress began to conflict with the din from next door, creating a syncopated rhythm.

Zabini looked back over his shoulder, his white teeth gleaming in his brilliant smile. The top row of his teeth was almost perfectly straight, covering the crooked teeth at the bottom. He caught Rose's eye and they both began to giggle, quietly, as to not ruin their ruse. "Oh, yeah," Zabini grunted, bucking his hips against the squeaky headboard. "That's it, love, bend over."

"Yes, oh, yes," Rose cried breathily, bouncing a little faster. "That's it, go deeper!" She wrapped a hand around her mouth again, but this time to stifle her giggles. Zabini looked back at her, his eyebrows cocked and the mad grin now spreading wider across his face.

"You like that?" he said, clambering upright. His socks sunk into the mattress. He started to jump, the whole bed shaking under him in loud screeches, the springs grinding under his feet and the frame hitting the wall.

"Yes!" Rose cried, also scrambling to her feet. She began to jump as well; tall enough that she was able to touch the ceiling. Her voice bubbled with laughter as she faced him, his grin just as goofy as hers. "Ooooh, that's it!"

The room next door had fallen into a self-conscious silence, the grating of their bed coming to an anti-climatic little squeak as they realised how thin the walls were. There was an awkward silence, followed by the sound of low voices.

Rose laughed, collapsing down onto the bed with a loud thump. Dust flew up from the old quilt as Zabini fell down beside her. They were both still giggling and light-headed, the mood utterly changed from the stiff awkwardness preceding it moments before, and Rose was just about to remark that _that_ ought to teach the couple to put a silencing charm on their mattress when a pair of rough hands were sliding up her hips and André was on top of her.

"Wha—" she gasped, her chest still heaving from their laughter. He was literally on top of her, throwing his legs over her, one hand now siding under her shirt. She sobered up almost immediately. "Get off," she snapped, pressing her palms flat on his chest. He laughed, ducking his mouth into her neck, his hand already spreading over her ribcage, the skin there crawling. She pulled her wand from her waistband and pressed it into his arm. "Get _off!"_

With a bang (and not the sort he had in mind), Zabini was off the bed and crying out in pain, cupping his arm. Rose hastily sat up, her heart hammering so hard it hurt. Her hand was shaking, but her wand was still held at hip-height.

"What the _fuck_ , Rose?" he gasped, his eyes watering. He clutched his arm tightly.

"Sorry," she said, then immediately regretted saying it. She wasn't. The heat was returning to her face, but more from anger than embarrassment. "Why would you try to grope me, you absolute moron?"

"I guess I misread the situation," he said through gritted teeth, lowering his hand to check his arm. She had burnt a small, round hole through his shirt and left a little scorch-mark on his skin, like a cigarette burn. She stood up, crossing tentatively towards him.

"Let me have a look."

"Piss off," he snapped, twisting his shoulder away.

"Let me have a look!" she said again, her voice now ringing with anger. "Let me at least heal it."

"What's going on with you?" he said again, this time with far more heat. "You're being weird today, all mousey and frigid."

"I will hex you until you scream for your mum if you don't take that back," she hissed.

"My mum wouldn't give a shit, remember?"

But she wasn't going to let him use her pity. Dealing with Zabini was like dealing with a manipulative, tantrum-throwing child. She pulled up the sleeve of his shirt and examined the skin underneath. The red mark was bright on the oily black of his bicep. She raised her wand and hesitated. She didn't know the healing charm that would knit together an open wound. Instead, she said a charm that ought to have stopped the pain.

"We can ask Hannah to fix it," she offered, thinking of the woman downstairs.

"It's fine," he replied coldly, pulling his arm away from her again.

"I told you to get off," Rose said tersely, annoyed that he was mad, "and you didn't. So I hexed you. Don't act like this is my fault. You really can't be picky about who stays friends with you from here on out."

Zabini didn't apologise. It was not something he ever really did. At least, Rose had never witnessed him expressing or feeling any kind of remorse. He crossed his arms and glared at her, his amber eyes incredibly bright in his dark face. Again, Rose noticed the bruise above his eye. "How do I make it up to you?" he said, as if he expected it to be that easy.

Rose met his eye, wanting to make things hard on him. "We go and find your father."

* * *

She couldn't hold a grudge against him. Not when he was acting so injured. The reality was, Zabini really didn't have anyone who cared about him. He had no family, he had no friends. He had nobody to love him and nobody to love, and Rose really couldn't hold a grudge.

Especially when he was the reason she was scratching her itch for a bit of action.

She was a bit selfish like that, too.

They both left The Leaky Cauldron around half past eight. Rose led Zabini out of the pub and into muggle London beyond, away from the magical shopping district they were far more familiar with. The street was thrumming outside, with professionals in business apparel parading down the pavement. Confidently, Rose walked down the street and rounded a few corners, a few steps ahead of Zabini.

"I don't know his address," Zabini called, his voice filled with a layer of insouciance. He was performing at being disinterested, Rose knew. She could sense his nerves underneath.

"We'll hunt him down," Rose replied, just as nonchalant. They dipped into a more secluded street, the only person visible a man smoking on the far corner. Rose discretely drew her wand, holding it out like she was flagging a cab.

A moment later, there was a loud _bang_ , like a car backfiring. Both Rose and Zabini leapt away from the curb as a triple-decker, purple bus appeared in the middle of the street, grinding to a halt before the underage witch and wizard. The doors wheezed open and the conductor rested by the door.

"Where ya goin'?" the man asked. He was in his late twenties, thickly built with a square jaw.

Rose looked at Zabini pointedly. "Falmouth," he said, his voice surprisingly rough.

"Cornwall," the conductor called to the driver before turning back to Zabini. "That'll be fifteen sickles."

"That's steep," Rose complained, fishing around in her bag to withdraw her wallet. She took out the fifteen sickles, knowing she would need to cover Zabini as well.

"The cost of living is goin' up, innit?" the conductor shrugged stepping aside to allow them on board.

The lower level of the bus was filled with half a dozen people; a few elderly witches hunched and gossiping in the back, a woman with her daughter, her face ashen. Otherwise, the bus was quiet. Rose and Zabini shuffled to a few seats in the middle, where the bus was less occupied. The seats were loose, so Rose grabbed hold of Zabini's arm to steady her as the bus shot off like a bullet out of a gun.

Rose hastily withdrew her hand once the chairs settled back in place.

"You're acting really weird," Zabini said, giving her a sidelong glance.

"I'm acting perfectly average."

"Hardly," he said, still watching her. "Are you seeing anyone?"

"No," Rose scoffed. "Why would you even ask?"

"Because even when you fancied Malfoy last year, you snogged me. So what's stopping you now?"

"I learned a valuable lesson back then, and I don't willingly repeat my mistakes," she said giving him a harsh look.

"Ouch." But he was grinning at her. It got on Rose's nerves.

"Who would I be seeing anyway?" she demanded. "We've been on holidays for three weeks."

"I see a muggle girl during the holidays," Zabini said, almost wistfully.

"By seeing, I imagine you mean sleeping with," Rose sniffed.

"Yeah, basically."

"How many girls have you slept with?" Rose asked, raising her eyebrows. There was a loud bang and the countryside was flashing by the windows in a smear of green and yellow. Rose gripped her chair more tightly and stared ahead. "Actually, I'd rather leave _that_ a mystery."

"So you're still in love with Malfoy," Zabini accused, leaning back into his rickety seat. "Glutton for punishment, you are."

The bus came to an unexpected stop and Rose toppled out of her chair, falling onto her hands and knees in the aisle. Seats skidded by and came to a rest at the front of the bus.

"Godric's Hollow!" the conductor announced from the front.

The group of old women in the back stood up and shuffled down the aisle, treading carefully to avoid stepping on Rose's fingers. She sat up, shaking her frizzy, red hair out of her eyes before climbing back into her seat.

"Very graceful," Zabini noted.

"I'm sorry, did you just say I am in love with _Malfoy_?" Rose repeated, her voice genuinely quaking. "In love? _Still_ in love, as if this has been some ongoing saga? Tone it down, Zabini."

"Fine, you fancy him," Zabini scoffed. "What difference is there?"

"There's a big difference, actually." Rose steadied herself as the bus launched off once more with another loud crack. She wasn't sure why his implication upset her so much. Perhaps it was his undermining of the word love. Or perhaps it was accusing her to have already been in love with Scorpius. Either way, it incensed her. "Even you would know the difference. I mean, when you fancy someone, it's a crush. You're infatuated with them; they're the person you think about, the one you want to be around. But love is much bigger than that. It's the person you live for. The person you'd sacrifice yourself for."

"I've never felt that about anyone," Zabini said.

"Well, neither have I," Rose said, just as curtly. The ocean, bright and blue, streaked past their window. "I still know what it is even if I haven't experienced it, you know?"

"No, I don't," Zabini said, his voice stiff and his amber eyes sharp. "I've never felt that and I've never seen anyone feel that. I've never even fit your description of fancying someone. The way you describe love…it sounds impractical."

The bus made its second stop. Rose had never heard anyone describe love as impractical before. It was far from any of the words she would use to describe it. Perhaps irrational or frightening or even powerful, but certainly not impractical.

"Falmouth," The conductor called.

Rose and Zabini collected themselves, heading down the aisle of the bus. Their feet crunched gravel while the glare of the sun blinded them. They squinted into the seaside town, and after a screech and pop, the bus had left them behind.

"This is where he lives?" Rose asked.

"I don't know his address," Zabini repeated again. "Just that he lives here. And that's old information. He may have moved on."

The manic cries of seagulls swelled in the air, forming the descant over the industrial rumble of the harbour, where boats bobbed neatly to the rhythm of the water. They both set off at a slow walk, passing by the small white buildings with their little brown rooftops, reflected in the water below.

"We'll ask around," Rose suggested, tugging her red hair behind her ear. "I'm sure someone will recognise the name."

She subtly switched her wand from her waistband to her bag, a safer hiding space surrounded by so many muggles. It was slightly disconcerting, knowing that she was not able to use her wand. Technically, she shouldn't be using it at all until she turned seventeen, but growing up in magical households and magical dwellings made it easy to circumvent the Trace. With each step they took, Zabini became increasingly resistant.

"I don't even know what he looks like, Rose."

"I'm sure the family resemblance will give him away."

"I haven't seen him since I was a toddler," André warned.

Rose ducked into a fish and chips shop, catching the attention of the gruff man behind the counter as André ducked in behind her.

"Hi, I was just wondering if you know anyone by the name of Blaise Zabini?"

The man looked up, his tangled beard fluttering under his huffy sigh. "What sorta name's that?"

"Thanks anyway." Rose grabbed André's arm and led him back outside. He dragged his feet, staring at her as if she was insane. She ignored the look. "Do you know why he left?"

"No idea. He married my mum and was with her for years."

"And he never tried to get in touch with you?"

"I don't think he was all that fond of me to begin with," André replied, his voice clipped.

Rose ducked into a bank, asking several of the vendors if they knew a Blaise Zabini. No one could answer in the affirmative and the name even received a few raised eyebrows. Still, Rose persisted. A small part of her felt this may have been futile. Finding magical communities within muggle communities was supposed to be difficult. If anyone were to ask for the Potters or the Weasleys or the Scamanders down at Ottery St. Catchpole, none of the muggles would know who was being asked after. They hid themselves well, a needle in a haystack. Without the use of a wand, it would take a miracle to find any wizards in Falmouth.

She was considering giving up when she and Zabini stopped at ten for morning tea. They shared a packet of chips and sat by a wharf, legs dangling over the edge. Rose had been paying for Zabini all day, but he hardly seemed guilty as he filched another chip.

Without self-reproach, he asked, "Why are you doing this for me?"

"I dunno. I'm lonely, you're lonely…" Rose licked the salt off her fingers. "We all need a friend sometimes."

"Is that what we are, then?" Zabini asked, throwing a chip towards a mangy looking seagull.

"We're mates. Aren't we?"

"I suppose that means I can't snog you." With faux disappointment.

"Definitely not. Mates don't snog."

"Bloody hell. I must not have many female mates after all."

"Have you ever considered actually being in a relationship?" Rose asked.

A whole flock of seagulls was now descending upon them, landing a few feet away, their beady eyes on the packet of chips. Rose hugged them closer, staring at their greedy, cawing beaks.

"Are you offering?" he laughed. Then he began to shake his head, the laugh as high and manic as the seagulls. "Honestly Rose, Who would _want_ to be in a relationship with me? Moody, insensitive, and definitely unable to commit to monogamy."

"You don't like monogamy?"

"I've never seen it work before!" His laughter rarely touched his eyes. "I would have driven Isabella _insane_. I would've cheated on her. Not to mention she's the most high maintenance bird I know, and I would never bother with romance." He took one of the chips from the packet, but instead of eating it, he held it tauntingly towards the birds. They began squawking and nipping forward, too scared to take it straight from his hands. Eventually, he threw it as hard and far as he could, so they all flew up into the air, diving after it. He settled back down. "Breaking Belle's heart was the kindest, most selfless thing I've ever done and she hates me for it."

Rose handed him the rest of the chips and got to her feet. "If it's any consolation, she hates me too." She offered a hand to pull Zabini to his feet.

They resumed their aimless wandering. Rose's mind drifted to Scorpius, as it usually did in idle moments. She didn't know what he would be like in a relationship. Would he be romantic? Would he be committed? She had nothing to compare him to, for he had never been in a relationship before. Her short dalliance with Nathan Corner had left a bitter taste in her mouth. She didn't care for romance; what she wanted was selflessness.

Rose could be a bit selfish, though. She knew that.

"What's that over there?" Rose frowned, squinting towards a building near the docklands. From afar, it looked small and squat, slightly dilapidated. An ancient boathouse on rickety stilts, abandoned in the otherwise neat harbour. But, as they got closer, the surface of the building seemed to shimmer like a mirage. Before their eyes, the wooden slats became polished and bright. A sign swinging from the roof in the shape of a broom read _Falmouth Falcons Headquarters_.

"Magic!" Rose cried, grabbing Zabini's arm and pulling him towards the building. The closer they got, the more substantial it seemed. She had completely forgotten that the Falcons originated from this little seaside town.

The Headquarters were part office and part souvenir shop. The back wall was laden with Falcon's memorabilia. Bunting flags, dark grey and white banners, stuffed falcon toys that flapped their wings on their own accord. Quidditch robes and brooms and jerseys. On the other end, a middle-aged witch sat behind a desk, scribbling on some records. Her skin was as pale as one of those slugs that are found under a rock. Her dark blue eyes roved over the two visitors.

"Not here to pick up a broom, are you?"

"No," Rose frowned, leaning on the desk.

"Good. We can't get the parts in to make them. The ones on the back wall are all we have."

"Why's that?" Zabini asked.

"We're not here for a broom," Rose said.

The woman slid her parchment out of the way and faced them both squarely. Her hair was pulled so tightly away from her face that she looked like she was bald. Bald, and unhelpful. This was a long shot, but so far it was their only lead. "We're looking for someone named Blaise Zabini."

"Mr Zabini hasn't been in today," the woman said curtly, pursing her lips.

A shot of excitement went through Rose. "But you know him?"

"He's one of the team's biggest sponsors," the woman replied, looking increasingly unsure. "Why is it that you need to see him?"

"We need an address," Rose said, "of any kind. Somewhere we can find him."

"I can't give out details like that to anyone," the woman snapped.

"We're not just anyone. This is his son."

"It's true," André said, "and I need to find him."

The woman seemed to stare at them both with her hard, marble eyes for what seemed like an eternity. There was no sympathy in those deep blue wells. "I don't believe you and I can't just give his address out to anyone."

Rose was considering giving up; it was unlikely this witch would soften her resolve. At least they now _knew_ he lived in Falmouth. Perhaps they would be able to find him through alternative means. Hatch a plan. It was a start at least. She was about to grab Zabini's shirt to drag him after her when he spoke, with hardness and desperation in his voice. "I'm dying."

"What?" the witch replied.

"I'm dying and I only have six weeks to live, and I haven't seen my dad since I was a little kid, since he left my mum. Mum doesn't know his address and all I remember was growing up with him in Falmouth. Just tell me where he is so I can see him and confront him and bury all this before they have to bury me."

The woman stared at him, her lips quivering and her face taut. Zabini stared back, hard and intense, surprisingly full of emotion. "I—I don't—" the woman stuttered. Her eyes flicked to Rose, who was just as shocked as she was. "Why are you _dying_?"

"I was cursed," he said, his voice harsh. "Dark Magic. It was a prank from some school bullies, they gave me a cursed tea-cup but the curse on it was a lot worse than they expected."

She glanced at Rose again, who was quickly regaining her colour. "He only has six weeks to live," she said tersely. "Didn't you read about this? It was all over the papers."

"No…well…I don't really follow _The Prophet_ so much now…"

"They can't stop the sort of curse he has. It's killing him from the inside out."

"And who are you?" she demanded.

"My carer," Zabini said, without even batting an eye.

"I am," Rose said, nodding once, quite solemn. "And I promised him that before he dies we will track down his father."

"It's the only thing I want," Zabini said, his voice shaking. "Surely, you realise I _am_ his son. We look alike."

"Well…I suppose you do…" the woman stared at him, chewing her lip. Her hands shook slightly. "I'm not supposed to give out the personal details of our benefactors."

Rose planted her hands on her hips, glaring at the woman with as much disapproval she could muster. "When Blaise Zabini finds out at his _son's funeral_ that you were the reason they never had a parting word, do you really think he will stay the Falcon's benefactor?"

Five minutes later, the two teenagers exited the Quidditch office with a scrap of parchment in hand. The address was not a street address, but rather a series of directions. Walk ten minutes out of town, up the hill past the Sycamore tree to the white house with the horseshoe on the door. They set off without speaking, both heading back the way they had come. When Rose looked over her shoulder, the office had transformed back into a decrepit and leaky boatshed.

"Good thinking, about the whole dying thing," Rose said casually as they got to the end of the road. The path grew steep her breathing was becoming a bit laboured. The sun felt like an iron poker on the back of her neck.

"Thanks," Zabini shrugged. "I'm a good liar."

"I'll remember that." At the top of the hill she could see the tree, its branches stretching towards the sky. "I thought you didn't want to see him. What changed your mind in such a hurry?"

"He's the Falcon's sponsor," André said, "so he must be loaded."

Of all the things to motivate André, she was unsurprised that this was the one.

They finally reached the top of the hill. Beyond the tree, a single house was nestled back, looking out on the town and sea. It was not grand, like Malfoy Manor, nor was it humble, like the Weasley Bungalow. It was a double-storey building with whitewashed walls and a sandstone fence, surrounding a neat little garden. The handsome, filigreed pattern running along the eave above the door spoke of intricacy and the front steps were marble, covered in a fine layer of salt from the sea spray far below. Slowly, they both walked up to the front door, where a horseshoe hung upside-down in place of a knocker.

Rose raised her hand to knock but hastily drew it away again. The horseshoe had twitched as it sensed her raised fist. It pursed into a straight line before it began to talk. "State your business."

"I'm André Zabini and I'm here to see my father," André said.

The horseshoe didn't reply. They stood there for at least a minute, shuffling awkwardly on the spot. They could hear the manic seagulls again, distantly now. Then, the door opened, and Blaise Zabini stood before them.

There were familiar features that Rose immediately found in his face. The sharp slanted eyes, the high cheekbones, the dark skin. Still, there were a few differences, markers that he was also partly his mother's son. Andre's lips were fuller than his father's and his nose was much blunter. He was also a few inches shorter. Rose had never met either of André's parents, but it occurred to her that André had not really met one of them either.

Blaise Zabini looked down at them both, staring at them over his long, pointed nose. His mouth did not even twitch. His eyes blinked indolently; that was something else they also shared. Their arrogance.

"Can't I come in?" André snapped, his amber eyes turning hard. There were no pleasantries, no surprised exclamations. Just animosity from the outset.

"Only if you plan on leaving soon," the older man sniffed. He looked down at Rose, his eyes appraising her red hair and his lips curling in disgust. "Is the blood-traitor coming?"

"Yes," André said, his voice far sharper than Rose had expected. "She's my mate."

"Very well."

He turned on his heel and stalked down the long corridor inside. Rose hesitated, not sure whether she _should_ follow. Zabini grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the house, the door shutting of its own accord behind them.

It was luxuriously decorated. Paintings of the sea framed on the walls, the water gently lapping in choppy, painted brushstrokes. The living room on the right was equipped with large, chaise lounges and a thick tasselled carpet with a deep blue pattern. Throw pillows covered every conceivable surface, each in monochromatic shades of blue. Small shells lined the mantelpiece, surrounding a Quidditch trophy. A woman lived here too. Rose knew right away as she collected all these smaller details. Only a woman would decorate a house like this, she thought. It didn't appear that she was home though. It was only Blaise.

"Sit," he said, pointing towards the sofa. They both sat, the pillows almost spiling onto the floor as they dislodged them. He took the seat opposite, in a high-back chair like the ones in their common room. "What are you doing here?"

"I've left home," André said. "Mum's gotten herself into trouble with the goblins. They raided our place, so I left."

His father was unmoved. "How does that concern me?"

"I don't have any money or any family. You haven't even written to me since you left." It was an accusation, fired like artillery. No emotion, just fire.

"It's been over ten years. Were you really so sentimental you still expected me to write?"

Fury licked the walls of Rose's throat and she wanted to leap across the room and throttle him. It took her everything to stay in the chair beside André. But he hardly seemed to be taking in anything his father had said; his eyes were dancing eagerly around the room.

"You've always lived here, have you?" His father did not respond, which he received as a yes. "Which means I once lived here too. I don't remember it at all."

"I obliviated your mother's memories when she left, so she wouldn't recall me. I had to keep her away from me."

"Who gave you the idea you could do that?" Rose spat, her rage flying out in her words. She clenched her fists on her thighs. Unlike Malfoy, Zabini had no problem with her letting loose like this. She was keenly aware that she ought to keep her mouth shut, but didn't anyway. "No matter _what_ sort of person she was, you can't go wiping people's memories so you pretend they never existed! He _exists_!"

Blaise was not moved by her anger. His dark slanted eyes lazily rolled from her face to André's. "You don't know the truth then," he said, snide and cruel. "And so you make these silly little assumptions about what I can and cannot do."

"What's the truth?" André asked, surprisingly candid.

"If it's money you need, I'll give you some. But I won't allow you to live here again."

"What's the truth?"

His father tapped his fingers against the back of his other hand. "So your mother really doesn't remember," he said, his mouth curling into a scowl. "Well, at least _my_ spell work held up."

"Spell work?" Zabini repeated. "She doesn't even use her wand. What do you mean spell work?"

But his father didn't seem interested in answering that question. He responded with a different answer instead. "I never wanted to marry her. She's a pureblood witch but never behaved like one. I rebuffed her advances many times—quite heartlessly, too. So she drugged me with a love potion. I married her not long after. This went on for years. Her little brat moved in. We all lived here."

He stared at the boy who carried bits of his face in his own, his dark eyes full of odium.

"She couldn't keep it up. One day she overslept and I missed her potion in my morning coffee. Once out of my drug-induced daze, I realised what had happened. Years wasted, thousands of galleons wasted, and _you_ as a result. I wanted nothing to do with any of you. As much as she forced me to love you all, it could not compete with the natural hatred I felt."

Zabini's glare only grew harder, mirroring his father's. Rose's breath had been sucked out of her chest, as if a Dementor had administered a kiss. The words seemed to swell in her ears, like cotton balls. A love potion. Zabini was conceived under a love potion.

"You didn't want me," Zabini said quietly.

"Of course not," his father replied. His expression did not soften, but his scowl relaxed in a thin line. "It was not personal."

"I'll take the money and go then," Zabini snapped, shoving his hands into his pockets. "If you don't mind… _daddy_."

Blaise Zabini didn't so much as move. He adjusted the neck of his robes before calling out, "Rollit."

A house-elf shuffled into the room, bowing so low that his bulbous nose touched the floor. He was wearing tailcoats that trailed after his heels. "Yes, Master."

"Give this boy one hundred galleons. Then take them wherever they need to go."

"Yes Master."

"That's it?" Rose barked, glaring at the man with complete loathing.

"One more thing," he said, holding up a hand to halt the house-elf. "Make sure you wipe their memories. I don't want them coming back here."

"Like hell you're wiping my memory," Rose snapped.

"You don't need to," Zabini said, standing from the lounge. "I won't ever come back here." He cleared his throat and held out his own hand, palm up. "I'll take the gold and go."

The house-elf summoned a small pouch heavy with coins and pressed it into the young Zabini's hand. He closed his fingers over it and tucked the pouch into his trousers. Without looking back or saying another word, Zabini followed the house-elf out of the room, and Rose had no choice but to do the same.

Falmouth was spread out below their feet like a town of toys, made out of little white blocks. The sea flashed and danced in the sun. The wind tugged at Rose's hair as she came to the edge of the cliff. The house-elf stood beside them.

"Where shall I take you?" he asked.

"The Leaky Cauldron," André replied.

Rose stared out at the sea, her heart aching in her chest. Rollit took her hand, his fingers long and brittle between hers. She looked around and saw that he had also taken Zabini's. With a gentle nod and crack, they Disapparated. Their stomachs turned, their bodies stretched, and a moment later they were standing in the courtyard outside The Leaky Cauldron, behind the wall that led to Diagon Alley. "Please, do not visit Master Zabini again." With a crack, he had vanished once more.

Rose and André stared at one another for a long moment, the events of the morning weighing on them like concrete, setting and hardening as the seconds passed. It felt like a million years ago that they both sat on that shitty bed in the room upstairs. After a few more seconds, Zabini began to laugh. The sort of laugh that left his eyes cold. He patted his pocket, where the coins jangled.

"That was a good idea after all," he cackled. "This'll cover me all summer. And _then_ some."

"Andy…"

"Weasley. Don't give me that soppy look."

"Andy, your mother…"

"Is a psychopathic banshee? I always knew that."

"No, André," she said, mustering up as much sobriety as possible. "Your mother conceived you while your father was under the influence of a love potion."

"Right," André nodded. He didn't understand.

She had read the sixth year Potions textbook, cover to cover, only a few days ago. She had read it under the tire swing tree in their backyard. Her stomach turned and for the first time that day, she was not able to hide the pity on her face.

"One of the side-effects of a love potion…" she hesitated, unsure how to explain this. It all felt very ironic after everything they had said that day. "Andy, you will never be able to feel love."

The look behind his eyes faded slowly as he began to understand. The cold smile slid off his face. Rose noticed him grip the gold in his pocket. "That makes sense."

"Does it?" she asked gently.

He turned away, examining the identical bricks in the wall. He began to tap his foot against them, rhythmic and hard. _Knock—knock—knock_. Dull little taps. That sort of pent up, volatile rage again. "I think I always knew that."

With hesitation, she reached out to take his hand, but withdrew it immediately. She thought of Scorpius, and then of André's misinterpretation in the bedroom upstairs. And then, perhaps quite cruelly, that taking his hand may be futile after all, considering he could not feel love. "This is insane," she said quietly, shaking her head to get rid of the thought.

"It makes sense," he mumbled, still tapping his foot, faster now. _Knock, knock, knock._ "I don't feel what other people do, the way other people do. I don't feel those sorts of things."

"You don't know—"

"When I broke things off with Belle, I mean, she was gutted. _Gutted_. My first friend from first year, the girl who taught me how to levitate a feather and how to do up a tie…I gutted her and I felt nothing," he said through gritted teeth. His kicking grew harder. _Knock, knock, knock_. "I gutted her and I should have felt something, you know? _Something_. Because even now I miss her. But I don't miss her because I miss my mate, or because I love her or because I feel guilty. I just miss the attention."

Rose didn't know what to say. "Don't be so hard on yourself."

"It's fine," he said sharply, looking up. He stopped tapping. "I don't care. I don't need to love anyone. Not my mum, not Belle, not you. I know that I'm selfish, I just know why now. It doesn't change anything."

"You're not nearly as selfish as you think."

"It's fine," he repeated, and he tried to smile this time, but it turned into a grimace. "I'm fine."

Rose took a step back, leaning on the back door of The Leaky Cauldron. "Maybe if Isabella knew the truth, she wouldn't be so mad at you."

"No," Zabini took several quick steps forward, levelling himself so they were eye to eye. "You don't tell anyone about today. Take it to your grave, Weasley."

"You do this thing where you try to intimidate me by getting really close and it doesn't work," Rose said, allowing her smallest and most patronising smile.

She wasn't sure how to deal with his response. He didn't seem to care as much as she expected him to. Zabini was incapable of experiencing love, and although Rose had never experienced the romantic sort herself, she was certain he was missing out on something.

Little did Rose know that over the course of the next few months, she would fall in love with Scorpius Malfoy hard and hardly without noticing, before falling out of love with him all at once. Of course, while standing outside the Leaky Cauldron with André Zabini feeling all sorts of pity, she would never be able to imagine the circumstances leading up to such incidents.

"I want my secret pain to stay a secret," he said quietly.

"Alright."

"Alright?"

"I'll keep your secret, but you owe me. I'm sure one day I'll need a favour and when I do I'll use this against you."

"Deal." Zabini withdrew the pouch of gold from his pocket, side-stepping her to get inside the pub. "Sorry, love, but I have an actual room that I want to purchase."

Rose grinned, following him back into the pub. She would keep his secret and his pain. She couldn't hold a grudge. Zabini had scratched her itch for action, after all.

* * *

Luna Scamander'sDirigible plum earrings swayed as she spoke. They had a somewhat hypnotizing effect. Victoire had completely lost track of what she was saying. Luna's wide, blue eyes seemed to widen even still.

"Has a Wrackspurt gotten into your ears?" she asked, leaning forward in genuine concern. In the process, she almost upset the pot of disgusting tea she had brewed upon her guest's arrival.

"Er—no," Victoire said, hastily grabbing the pot and placing it on a tall stack of books. "Sorry, Luna, I just got distracted."

"Certainly a Wrackspurt then. I'll have to ask Lysander to give me back my Spectrespecs," she sighed. She smiled kindly. "What were you saying, dear? About _The Quibbler_?"

"Right," Victoire nodded earnestly. "I have a story. I've already got it here." She pulled out the neatly re-written article and handed it over to Luna. Nervously, she watched the older woman scan the parchment.

"I may need a moment to read this," Luna said, frowning slightly at the title.

"Take all the time you need," Victoire replied, but barely finished getting the words out when a pair of heavy shoes came thumping up the spiral staircase.

"Love, where did we leave that net—oh! Look what we have here. A little Weasley!"

Rolf Scamander was an attractive man, with swarthy sun-tanned skin and broad shoulders. He reminded Victoire of her uncle Charlie. His wife utterly ignored him, still reading the article as if no one else had entered the room. Rolf did not seem the least bit offended by this.

He leaned against the sofa where Victoire was perched, presenting her a wry grin. "As the current Chief Consulting Magizoologist to the Daily Prophet, I think I should tell you that you'll be putting me out of the job."

"Oh, I doubt it," Victoire blustered, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I'm not interested in Magizoology, really. Only from a reader's perspective," she amended quickly.

"Now, I doubt _that_. Three months living with dragons. What was that like?"

"Er…" Victoire glanced at Luna, who was squinting at the last page. "It was challenging."

"I'd say!" Rolf chortled, thumping the back of the sofa. "So, why are you here?"

"She wants to publish this in _The Quibbler_ ," Luna said, holding out the parchment to her husband. "I think we are probably her last hope."

"Oh, no," Victoire said uncomfortably. She hadn't expected Luna to call her out on that. "I think _The Quibbler_ would be the perfect magazine for this sort of story. I mean, it's a bit of a conspiracy theory."

"I'm not sure our readership will like it, though," Luna frowned. "It's very anti-goblin."

Rolf had already skimmed her piece and was handing it back. "Yes, love, but the goblins are clever, not kind. This may be the sort of things they'd do."

"There is a possibility…" Luna conceded.

"I can't give you the names of my sources, but they are both very reliable," Victoire reassured her.

Luna flapped her hand dismissively. "Oh, that doesn't really matter," she said, turning to Rolf. "I'm not sure I should run this sort of thing."

"Have you tried _The Daily Prophet_?" Rolf asked.

Victoire blinked in disbelief. "Well, of course. They refused to run it. Told me to bury the story."

"Did they?" Luna asked, suddenly interested.

"Why would they say that," Rolf scowled.

"Because—well, because they only print what Gladstone wants printed and I don't think this is something he wants the world to know."

Rolf looked outraged, puffing up his chest in indignation. "The Ministry isn't censoring! I should know, I work at the _Prophet_."

Victoire hesitated. "Erm…so do I."

The doorbell chimed twice, distracting her hosts. Both looked towards the spiral staircase. Luna shuffled towards the window across the room, lifted the rattling glass and poked her head outside. "Come in, it's open!"

Victoire couldn't believe people just left their doors unlocked.

"Ginny is downstairs," Luna announced airily, returning to her seat. "What a coincidence in the timing. Shall I make us all more tea?"

"No," Victoire said quickly. She softened her voice. "No, it's fine. I think we have enough."

Ginny trampled up the staircase, holding a box full of desserts, obviously knowing better than to eat anything from the Scamander household. Her eyes paused briefly on Victoire before moving on.

"I thought I'd drop by—sorry, am I interrupting anything?"

"Not at all," Luna smiled pleasantly. "Why don't you have some tea?"

Ginny hesitantly sat beside Victoire, her eyes skirting over the title of the article in her lap. Her lips set in a firm, straight line. Rolf moved towards her with a fresh teacup and once Ginny had relieved him of the beverage, he nabbed one of the cakes from her box. "Was there a reason you came by?" he asked, taking a bite of the sweet.

Ginny's eyes stayed a few beats longer than necessary on her niece's parchment. "Yes…I…" she looked up at Rolf. "I've lost my train of thought."

"Wrackspurts," Luna said knowingly.

Ginny tossed back her hair and studied the couple before her. "I guess Victoire's already made a bit of a pitch. What do you both think?"

"You know what we think," Rolf sighed, leaning against his wife's armchair. "I don't trust the goblins, and Victoire's story does sound compelling. But there's no way Gladstone would cover something like this up."

Ginny frowned. She leaned back, grasping at her teacup. She did not drink from it, only held it tightly in her hands, her wedding band clinking on the china. She suddenly became hopeful, leaning forward once more. "But the goblins—I mean, you know the goblins are cunning. How do you know that they're not manipulating Gladstone?"

Victoire raised her eyebrows in disbelief. Ginny knew that Gladstone was as on board for these measures as the Goblin King. What was she suggesting?

Rolf look intrigued, but Luna shook her head firmly. "The goblins are the reason that all magical creatures now have wand equality. They wouldn't take advantage of Gladstone after that."

"But even you remember how Griphook cheated Harry out of the Sword of Gryffindor. You all nursed him back to health, rescued him from the Death Eaters, and he betrayed us still."

Luna fell silent, staring at Ginny for a long moment. "It could be possible," she said slowly, "that Gladstone isn't aware of the dragon disappearances."

"Yes," Victoire said, suddenly cottoning on. "Perhaps he doesn't know at all. He's being made to look like a fool."

"I've always been wary of the goblins," Rolf frowned. "Not because I'm xenophobic—it's just, they're quite clever. A small fraction of them still have a chip on their shoulder."

"Yes, right," Victoire said, her pulse quickening. "Imagine what a service we would be doing if the Ministry knew the truth."

Luna's wide, pale blue eyes remained as protuberant as ever, making it hard to gauge her expression. She turned her unsettling gaze on Ginny. "Harry isn't in Ireland, is he?" she asked.

Ginny placed her cup of tea on the floor, as the coffee table was too completely covered in books and strange contraptions to hold anything else. The two women looked at each other with a great, throbbing emotion. "You know he isn't an assassin, Luna," Ginny said quietly.

"I just find it all so hard to understand," Luna replied. "I was so sure…" She trailed off, her eyes glazed for a moment. They snapped back to Ginny. "You don't think the Security Trolls have the goblins under the Imperius?"

Ginny looked genuinely gobsmacked at this question. She cleared her throat, attempting to summon an appropriate amount of alarm. "Well, who knows?"

"Oh, Luna, drop that," Rolf sighed.

"But it would explain _everything_. The Security Trolls have been trying to overthrow the Ministry for years now. And just when things are going well, they strike."

"I don't think it's the trolls," Rolf replied.

"Keep an open mind, dear," Luna sighed. She held her hand out once more to Victoire. "Let me see that for a moment."

Victoire glanced at her aunt, wondering exactly how she had done it. It was a whole new level of genius. Ginny just looked a little sad, wilting around her shoulders. The mention of Security Trolls and conspiracy theories had not eased the exhaustion in her eyes. "Harry really wants to see you both," she said, her voice husky. "He wants to clear things up with you."

"Perhaps we will be able to clear his name," Luna said with distinction. "We'll run this story, and I'll run something on the Security Trolls, too, and maybe then the Ministry will realise that he was innocent the whole time."

"Maybe," Ginny said tiredly. She stood again, and Victoire took this as a cue to leave as well. They both picked their way towards the door, Rolf helping them navigate the haphazard room. Ginny looked back over her shoulder, her hand on Victoire's back. "Luna…I only ask that if you print Victoire's story, you leave the report anonymous."

"What?" Victoire challenged, her face growing hot.

"Alright," Luna said, smiling pleasantly. She placed the paper on her lap and withdrew her wand, from where it was tucked behind her left ear. She placed her wand to the paper, sending the article whizzing into the room next door. "Tell Harry I say hello."

As soon as they were both out of the Scamander's quirky home, Victoire's head felt clearer. She turned to her aunt, a sense of pulsing anger shooting through her in bursts. "Why would you tell her to leave my name off the article?"

"If it were up to me, that article wouldn't be going to print. Gladstone will be furious, even if Luna blames a Security Troll for the goblin's assassination attempt."

Victoire's ire was not eased. "Then why help me out? Why not just let Luna shoot me down?"

Ginny sighed; she was sighing a lot these days. "I need Luna to believe Harry is innocent but she won't let go of her convictions easily. If it takes her printing some rubbish in _The Quibbler_ to get her on our side, I'll let her. I need Luna to believe in us again."

Victoire frowned. She was not as used to all this. She had less reasons to sigh. "Then I hope for your sake this article does the trick."

* * *

"Darling, you're brooding."

"I'm not brooding, mother."

Astoria Malfoy laid a hand on her son's forehead, as if feeling whether or not he had a temperature. He battered her away irritably. He was not ill or feverish; he was brooding, and his mother knew it, and he knew it too, and feeling his forehead would in no way quantify this.

"What's the matter, darling?"

He was not usually the sort of child who complained about what the matter was, but he was beginning to evolve. "Do you realise how incredibly dull this trip has been? How dull it is being an only child, starved of companionship?"

Astoria rolled her eyes. Scorpius has always had a flair for the dramatic. "Well, with a son as _charming_ as you, why would I want any other children?"

"I mean it, mum," Scorpius said, slumping over the table. "We could have done Paris in two weeks. Why did you decide to stay for a month?"

"We never see you during the school year," she protested, aghast. "Is it really so much to ask that we spend some quality family time together over the summer?"

"Yes," Scorpius mumbled.

He was quite fed up with the quality family time. With his father fussing about the muggle transport and his mother making passive aggressive remarks towards their waiting staff. He was tired.

And as always, he felt a twinge of jealousy when he considered Rose and Albus. It had been a jealousy that existed from their first day of Hogwarts as he boarded the Hogwarts Express and saw the Weasley-Potter posse. Of how much company they had during their holidays. Even with Rose's complaints of boredom, she was never without companionship. She had a brother to play Gobstones with, cousins to hang out with at family parties—she was not nearly as isolated as Scorpius was.

Scorpius had grown up in the company of adults. He grew up around his grandparent's squabbling, around ancient aunts and uncles who blithered all day about politics and money. He grew up starved of companionship, with the only exception being Isabella Nott. The girl who was just as starved of companionship as he was.

What he would give to have red hair, a freckled complexion and more cousins than he could count.

Draco entered their hotel suite a few moments later, his hair slicked back out of his eyes. He poked around his suitcase for a moment before looking over his shoulder. "I was thinking, maybe we should do a little shopping this afternoon."

Scorpius slammed his head back onto the writing desk and groaned loudly. His father raised his eyebrows disdainfully and addressed Astoria directly. "What's his problem?"

"He's feverish," Astoria said.

"I'm brooding," Scorpius corrected.

"Oh, you know I can't stand it when you brood, Scorpius. Stop being so dramatic, we're in France for Salazar's sake," Draco huffed, tucking his wallet into his trouser pocket.

"He's been complaining that he hasn't had any company this trip," Astoria supplied.

"What are we? A pair of hippogriffs?"

"Company his own _age_ , Draco."

Draco paused to think, tapping his finger on his chin. Scorpius slowly looked up, staring at his father hopefully.

"Why are you wearing your hair like that?" Draco asked, pointing his finger at Scorpius' wavy hair.

"W-what?" his hand immediately leapt to the top of his head. He hadn't been combing or gelling his hair since going on holidays, allowing it to kink out naturally. Since he was a child, he had watched his father neatly comb his hair and gel it back, before performing his cutthroat shave. They would playfully smear the shaving foam on each other's faces. Draco had showed him how to slick back his own hair the day before he started at Hogwarts.

"It doesn't look neat and you should know, Scorpius, presentation is everything."

"We're on holidays, father," Scorpius complained. "Can't I just _relax_?"

"Do I ever appear relaxed?" his father demanded.

"Maybe that's your problem. Maybe you need to relax."

" _Scorpius_ ," his mother hissed. And she actually hissed it. Scorpius did not miss that she had spoken in Parseltongue. She glared at her son with wide, steely eyes, holding his stare until he began to look guilty. " _Don't speak that way. We aren't here to torture you_."

" _I'll do my best to play at being your little pet, then,"_ he hissed back, spitting out the sounds of their almost secret language. "Let's go shopping."

His father looked between Scorpius and Astoria awkwardly before nodding once. He loathed it when they spoke Parseltongue in his presence. Astoria crossed the room, taking a pair of fine, leather gloves and sliding them over her ivory hands. When neither of the men in the room moved from their spots, she gathered up Scorpius' satchel and tucked it over his shoulder for him.

It wasn't until they were out in the boiling heat once more, with the sun prickling his arms and turning his skin it's now perpetual raw red, that Draco turned back to his family to speak in a lazy drawl. "Didn't the Notts say they were spending a fortnight at their holiday house on the French Riviera? Why don't we cut our stay in Paris short and ask to visit them?"

"Oh, I'm sure Scorpius would love to see Isabella," Astoria said lazily, adjusting her sunglasses before placing one of her gloved hands on her son's thin shoulder. His sunburn itched underneath. "It's the perfect weather to go to the beach. Wouldn't that be lovely, darling?"

"Lovely," Scorpius muttered in agreement.

"Isabella is just the sort of company you were hoping for, wasn't she?" his mother smile good-naturedly.

Not quite, Scorpius thought, but he kept his brooding to himself this time.

* * *

Teddy felt conspicuous. It felt as if he had gotten the word IMPOSTER tattooed across his forehead. He resisted the urge to look at himself in the reflection of the enchanted windows.

He was a goblin. No one had mentioned otherwise. No one had so much as looked at him. He was a goblin and apparently a very insignificant one at that.

Several goblins nearby were muttering about Harry Potter, which was the floor's top priority according to the Ministry's official business. But the day had been uneventful so far. Teddy had been assigned to sort through the old Auror documents and pass on relevant material to a superior. Then, they had enjoyed a lunch break. Mentally, he had collected small details that may be useful but felt utterly worthless.

"Chief," he heard a goblin behind him grunt. Several of them shuffled to their feet. Teddy hastily looked over his shoulder and followed.

Selgrut the Sly had just entered. Under his thick Ministry robes, he was wearing goblin-made chainmail. A wand and a short dagger were tucked into his belt. He had a square and block-like body with sturdy legs, and even for goblin standards, he was short.

"Welgruk, I want someone tailing the Weasleys this week," the Chief said, his thick voice garbled by his accent. "Put four members of the Squad on them."

Teddy tensed, his back now turned to the Chief. He was grateful that the view of his face was obscured. The goblin he had addressed spoke up. "Any Weasleys in particular?"

"Bill and Fleur" Selgrut grated. "They know far too much."

"Bill and his wife work in Gringotts," Welgruk said, rifling through a file labeled _Undesirable By Association_. "Wouldn't it be best to sack them?"

"No, not yet. I want eyes on them for now."

"Yes, sir."

"Welgruk."

"Sir?"

"Don't neglect to put surveillance on their daughter Victoire either."

"Yes, sir."

Teddy tried to breathe deeply, to relax his shoulders, like the goblin on his right. It was difficult. The faces of Bill, Fleur and Victoire swum before his eyes. He would have to warn them. He turned around, shuffling some paper as he did to seem distracted.

"The Minister wants a final report on the Squib project by the end of next month."

"About time," one of the other goblins muttered.

"If there's no cure," Selgrut heaved, "then they shut down the project in the Department of Mysteries, too. The report should be done by next week."

Teddy's heart leapt. Selgrut was looking directly at him. "Did you hear me?"

"Y-yes," he stammered.

"Pencil that in."

Teddy turned around and began rifling through the desk drawers. The goblin beside him, a creature with grey hair and quivering jowls, sighed sympathetically and slid a day planner towards Teddy. He took it gratefully and flipped through it. He was being conspicuous, he was being obvious. They all knew.

"Well?" Selgrut snapped.

"Y-yes, sir," Teddy said. The chief clumped his way to his office, his metal boots ringing on the floor. Teddy glanced at the goblin beside him nervously. "Thanks."

"You were transferred recently?" he asked, his cloudy eyes darting over Teddy with surprising sharpness.

"Yes. First time away from the Kingdom. I don't usually work on this floor."

In Gobbledegook, the goblin leaned in and muttered, " _It is backwards here. With the wizards."_

"Yes," Teddy agreed, clumsily producing the word in the goblin's native tongue. He swallowed hard.

"My name is Welgruk," the goblin said.

He was not supposed to be making friends. Surely, that did not bode well for a spy in training. He needed to calm himself. He had a cover story, and a false name. He only needed to mention them if it came to it.

He pretended to jot something down on his memo sheet. "Marvelous," Teddy said, tucking the diary back into its desk drawer. "Excuse me while I personally deliver these memos. It was nice to meet you, Welgruk."

* * *

 _Rose was covered in freckles. Head to toe, face to fingertips. He shouldn't have been surprised. They always came out of hiding during the summer, so they were twice as numerous. Like her gold skin had been dusted with cinnamon, prepared like a meal. Merlin, how he wanted to taste her skin. He let his lips drift from her own so they found her neck, where he could feel her pulse under his tongue. That throbbing beat of life. Curiously, he could only focus on one thing at a time._

 _She turned, so that he could access the back of her black bra. He noticed that she hadn't done the clip up properly, that only one hook was through the eye. It was such a silly detail to notice._

 _He unclasped her bra, goosebumps running over his skin. His heart pounded so hard it was any wonder there was enough blood to circulate around his body._

 _He was already coming undone. Skin on skin, but not quite bare. He bunched her thick hair in his hand and the strangest sound escaped his mouth. Like a hiccup and a whine. She was as loud in this context as she was in every other. He shouldn't have been surprised._

 _Her hands roved down his back, so that it stung, like her fingers leaked a trail of fire. She said his name, surprisingly urgent. "Scorpius."_

" _Mm?"_

 _She shook him, startling him._

"Earth to Scorpius!"

"W-what the hell," he jerked awake. He was lying face down in a bed, not a bed that was immediately familiar. Not the bed from his hotel in Paris. He also realised there was a hand on his bare back, stinging his sunburnt skin. He wasn't sure to whom the hand belonged.

He also realised that he had been dreaming about…well, he had certainly not had a dream of that nature before. Nor had he ever had to deal with the evidence before.

"What the hell," he said again, his heart still pounding.

"It's almost ten-thirty! Put on your bathing suit and we'll go for a dip. The beach is practically deserted."

Scorpius very carefully rolled onto his back, bundling the crisp, white sheets up to his chest. Isabella sat on his bed, legs underneath her, her hand now resting on his shoulder rather than his back. He was at her holiday house. He had completely forgotten. They had arrived late the night before, had a huge dinner and then walked along the beach, both pairs of parents trailing behind them. He had forgotten.

For a moment, he had really believed he was with Rose.

"Merlin, Isabella, can't you give me an inch of privacy, _please_?"

"Speaking of _inches_."

"Sod off," he snapped, grabbing a pillow with his free hand and smacking her. She caught it easily.

"We used to bathe together as children, Scorpius. I've seen it all before," she said, grabbing hold of the sheets.

He gripped them more tightly, his eyes widening. "Don't you dare. I'm not—I'm not dressed."

"You're not wearing pants?" she said, a huge bemused smile stretching over her face. She was just managing to hold back her laughter. "Scorpius, you practically wear your dress robes to bed!"

"It's hot!"

"Oh dear, I suppose I _should_ give you some privacy then."

Isabella was giggling madly now, her pug nose flared as she tried to catch her breath. Scorpius rolled his eyes and turned back over, grabbing a pillow and holding it over his head to block out the sound of her snickering. Perhaps if he stayed like this long enough, he would be able to suffocate himself.

When Scorpius remerged, Isabella had vacated his room. He was staying in the second guest room at the Nott's chateau, located about ten minutes outside of Nice, with the sparkling coast taking up the view from his wide double-bay windows. He scouted the room quickly for his clothes, then ducked into the bathroom for a cold shower.

Merlin, he hadn't so much as snogged Rose properly, he had gotten way ahead of himself. The chances of finding himself in a bed with Rose were just as remote as the scenario in his dream. He needed to straighten his head out. The cold water knifed his sunburnt back and he wondered vaguely why anyone actually _liked_ warm weather.

He met Isabella on the ground floor, where she was waiting with sunglass propped on her head and a banana in hand. She passed it to him, her expression totally straight. Scorpius glared at her.

"Breakfast," she said innocently. "Eat while we walk."

The day was glorious, the sun beaming down warmth well before midday. The beach was not as deserted as Isabella had promised, but hardly could be considered busy. A family further up were delicately building sandcastles, adding shells and seaweed as adornments. Scorpius' toes wedged into the sand and he sighed.

"Thank Merlin I'm here. My parents were driving me mental."

"I think that's everyone's parents," Isabella said, pulling a face. She spread a beach towel over the sand. The water lapped gently on the shore and a few tourists had waded in up to their waists. Scorpius marvelled at how much wealth the Nott Empire really had in order to own a chateau on the French Riviera.

"Do my back," Isabella said, holding out her sunscreen. Scorpius sighed but took the bottle. He squirted some of the cream into his hand and began to lather it over her tanned shoulder blades. "Has Rose written to you?" she asked.

"You told me I'm not allowed to write to her," Scorpius replied.

"Don't avoid answering."

"She's written to me. She also told me she wrote to you."

"Well, I'm not replying. You should know that Zabini hasn't written to me."

"I'm not surprised."

"I am! I thought he'd at least write to—to—"

"Apologise?" Malfoy scoffed. He held out the bottle. "My turn."

"You're already burnt."

"I don't want my burn to get a tan."

Isabella sighed, squirting the sunscreen directly onto his back. Scorpius winced. "Honestly, I'm not going to be able to stay mad forever, but I'll bloody well try. Rose—Rose really needs to be miserable for a while; to make me feel better."

"Wow, that's incredibly mature."

"And Zabini needs to wisen up and miss me already."

"I'm sure he does—ow, please Belle, take it easy! Bloody hell, are you trying to peel off the hypodermis layer of my skin?"

"Oh, hush you," Isabella retorted, tossing the bottle into her beach bag. "Let's go for a swim."

They spent the rest of the morning in the water, the cool waves breaking over their legs, inching their way into the deep so they could adjust to the change in temperature. Isabella dived down under the surface and Scorpius followed after her. They scavenged for seaweed to drape over each other's shoulders when they emerged. Around midday, they both grew hungry and tired as the sun grew hot, and they headed back towards the house.

Their parents were gathered in the garden overlooking the beach, eating fruit with sticky fingers. Pansy lit up when she saw them both approaching. "I was just about to start on lunch. Would you two mind helping me?"

"Yes," Isabella said, collapsing in a chair instead. Scorpius stood awkwardly behind her. It was one thing to disrespect his own parents, but he couldn't bring himself to be rude to others.

"You'll want to liquefy all your assets as soon as possible. Sell your properties and hide the gold," Draco advised Edgar Nott in a confident drawl. "Investors will pull out completely if this recession becomes a depression."

"I'm not liquefying everything, that would be _absurd_. I'm prepared to ride out the downturns."

"Come on," Pansy said in a clipped voice, laying a hand on Isabella's shoulder. "Let's go."

"I'll come," Astoria volunteered. "I always find it amusing when I have the opportunity to cook for myself. Scorpius, won't you be a dear and help as well?"

That was his cue. Scorpius followed his mother off into the kitchen, despite how much he was itching to join the debate with his and Isabella's father. It was not like Scorpius to enter debates, he usually had them inside his head, but it was like Scorpius to keep his mouth shut. Seen, not heard.

Neither Pansy nor Astoria where particularly adept at cooking, both having relied on house-elves for the vast majority of their lives. They leaned against the pristine kitchen counter while Pansy poured another glass of wine. Scorpius began hunting through the kitchen, sourcing ingredients. There was some crab meat and some tuna in the cool-box along with vegetables and eggs. He rifled through the pantry, which had been stocked before their arrival, and found some breadcrumbs.

"Cut up some celery, won't you?" he asked Isabella. She did an awfully slow job of it, but Scorpius let her work in silence as she moped, having been forced into helping while he combined the crab meat and tuna with salt, green pepper, eggs and lemon juice. When Isabella slid over the celery, he added it to the lot, followed by the bread crumbs.

"I didn't realise you could cook," Isabella said, eyeing his busy, fishbone fingers.

"Cooking is just like potions, except you usually _don't_ poison yourself if you get the recipe wrong," Scorpius replied, adding the mixture in an unbaked pie shell. "This needs to bake for half an hour," he told his mother, before slipping the dish into the oven.

"Alright, dear. I'll watch it," Astoria smiled, raising her wine glass to signal that she had heard.

Isabella followed Scorpius towards the lounge room with its panoramic ocean view, the blue sky yawning in front of them. She sprawled over the sofa and he curled up in the corner, resting on the arm. They were still in bathing suits, although dry now, the salt crystallising on their arms and legs. Isabella lounged in her bikini, her sheer sarong tied in a knot over her chest. She rolled onto her back, her cold feet poking Scorpius' thigh.

"What did your dad mean, liquefy all our assets?" she asked curiously.

"It's the smart thing to do during a bad recession like this. Real estate and commodities will depreciate in value, which means you'll lose money on them. Gold is the only safe asset."

"I don't get it," she moaned kicking him with the ball of her foot. Scorpius seized her ankle to stop the jabbing. Isabella sat up, pouting at him. "I don't get money."

"It's because you grew up rich."

"You get money," she accused. "And you're rich."

"I'm not nearly as savvy as you think. I'm relying on the fact I will inherit wealth because I don't intend on actually doing anything with my life."

"See, you have it all figured out. You have a plan."

Scorpius began to laugh, for the first time in a while, so that it sounded hollow. He shook his head in disbelief. "Merlin, the aristocracy really didn't think things through, did they? They were sort of relying on us all to marry into wealth because we're all too pathetic to actually sell our labour."

"We could still get married and pool all our money."

"Despite how beautiful that proposal was, I think I'll pass."

Eventually, they took some of crabmeat pie and went for another another walk along the beach. In the late afternoon, Scorpius read on the veranda while Belle took a bath. It was a moderately better day, but Scorpius' mind was still elsewhere, with other company. After a long day of heat and sun, Scorpius crawled back into his bed.

Scorpius flushed as he clambered under the sheets. Now that he was awake, the very idea of the previous night's dream flustered him. He couldn't imagine touching Rose like that—so forthright.

But he wanted to.

Little did Scorpius know that over the course of the next few months, he would see Rose strip down to her knickers on two separate occasions, purely for his benefit. Of course, sitting in his bed feeling as if he had had the wind knocked out of him, he would never be able to imagine the circumstances leading up to such incidents.

He was still in the dark.

* * *

"But where is their Base? Under a mountain?" Molly repeated, her eyes wide. Fred was gripping her arm to steady her. Underneath her thick layer of make-up, she had gone pale. Still, as always, there was fight in her eyes.

"It's classified, no mention of a location. Just 'Mountain Base.' There's four children in total," Teddy continued, sinking deeper into the drawing room's sofa. "They've all been experimented on. Potions, spells. As far as I can tell, each one was given something different."

"To cure them of their inability to produce magic," Fred clarified.

Dominique looked green. She kept nervously running her hands through her long, strawberry-blonde hair, twisting it over her shoulder, over and over.

"Cure them," Teddy said slowly. He ran a hand over his eyes. The room was swimming in his vision; the burnt-up tapestry of the Black family, the peeling wallpaper. "They're going to kill them."

"They can't—this has to be illegal—" Dominique said, almost pleading.

"I don't think Gladstone is interested in legalities," Fred grumbled. "The public doesn't exactly feel warm towards Squibs; they never have and they certainly won't now."

"I did a lot of sniffing around today," Teddy said, his voice breaking. "A lot. I went to three different floors. I read through just about every memo that's passed through the Ministry in the last six months. It's eugenics, but he's marketing it as progress. Social progress. The way to true equality, making sure all magical life is equal. This isn't going to be an underground operation."

"What do you mean?"

Victoire spoke. She hadn't spoken to Teddy since he had arrived with the news. She was leaning on the far side of the room, her hip resting on the fireplace and her expression uncharacteristically straight. He looked at her, keen to answer now that she was asking.

"It was always going to be two alternatives," Teddy said, and he could see the memos he had been reading that afternoon in his mind's eye, the Minister's signature at the bottom of each. "The first plan was to find a cure, then peddle it out to the masses. Like the werewolves and the Wolfsbane Initiative. Then use those abortion potions to stop people from having any more Squib children. If that plan failed, they're going to bring out a euthanasia program in place of the cure. In both scenarios, the potion will ensure that there will be no more Squibs in future generations."

"They're going to bring out a euthanasia program," Victoire repeated, her voice flat. "They're going to ask Squibs to what—turn themselves over to die?"

"I don't think they'll be asking," Teddy said grimly.

Victoire clenched her jaw, toying with one of her earrings. Her younger sister continued to twist her hair, over and over. No one knew what to say to that. Teddy didn't care to volunteer any more information. He was told to catch the other order members up, and although Harry probably didn't have the youngest members in mind, they were just as much members as anyone else.

"Why were they so willing to turn this information over to you?" Victoire demanded. "Who were you disguised as today? The Minister for Magic?"

He didn't like the accusation in her voice. "No," he snapped moodily.

"Goblins aren't trusting creatures. How did you get your hands on this much information in a single day?"

"I'm good at what I do," Teddy retorted, feeling the heat in his face. "I'm good at uncovering the truth."

"You're good at keeping secrets," Victoire muttered, but it was not loud enough that he was supposed to hear her. He still did, of course. Teddy gritted his teeth and left her to her own devices. He knew Victoire, and he knew why she was mad—she wanted to be the one being useful, being brave.

"The Ministry can't do this," Dominique said, her voice trembling.

"What's Harry doing?" Molly demanded.

"I only told him an hour ago," Teddy replied, shuffling his feet. "He's calling an Order meeting now. I imagine they'll put together a team to find those kids."

The young group of wizards and witches felt silent in the aftermath of this conversation, their expressions drawn and their eyes hard. All of them were thinking. It was a lot to take in.

"I want to go on that assignment," Molly said finally.

There was heat in her voice, like the lump in her throat was a chunk of lit coal.

"We haven't even started training yet," Fred reasoned gently.

Teddy also looked uneasy. "They're probably going to take their most experienced members, Molly."

"No, I need to be there. I'm a part of the task force on the Squib case and I have to help put a stop to it." Fred touched her shoulder to impart restraint but Molly pulled away sharply. Behind her glasses, her eyes were glazed. "For Lucy."

Her cousin sighed, his broad shoulders rising and falling. He looked exhausted. "We don't know if Lucy is a Squib, dear. She's not even ten yet."

"She hasn't shown any signs of magic," Molly snapped. "No accidental outbursts, no little quirks. Nothing. Chances are she might be a Squib and that'll probably be enough to target her."

"She's probably just a late bloomer," Dominique suggested.

"I don't care," Molly said fiercely through clenched teeth. "Anyone who threatens my sister has to die at my hands."

Words were running through Teddy's head. All the words he had read that day, on sheets upon sheets of paper. _Life unworthy of life. Elimination from the chain of heredity._ His head swum again.

Words that Gladstone endorsed. The man he had campaigned for.

A part of him wanted the goblins to kill him already.

He ran a hand over his face as if he could wipe away the thoughts, but they stayed stuck in the muddy swamp of his mind. He looked up to find Victoire watching him, her eyebrows furrowed and her lips pinched. He knew her face, he knew the entire inventory of her expressions, and he knew what she was thinking. Teddy was holding something back from them, and she wanted to know what.

Ellie Cattermole poked her head into the room. The other turned, facing the now dismissed Auror. She had a very distinct face; wide, protruding cheekbones that made it appear as if she had two apples tucked inside her mouth and a pair of dark eyes that were a bit too close together. It was a strong face, accompanied by a small, willowy build. She slipped into the drawing room and shut the door behind her. Her voice was surprisingly high and girlish, with a sing-song rhythm. "Sorry I was running late. Harry needed a word with us and we got caught up in the rigmarole."

"You're here to train us," Molly said, her voice ringing loudly in the room, heavy and low by contrast. "Will we be ready by the Squib raid?"

Ellie chuckled a little, her eyes dancing over Molly. "Oh no, sweetheart. This will take some time."

Dominique stifled a snicker and Molly's expression turned sour. No one in her immediate family would dare call her sweetheart.

"What are we starting with?" Victoire asked, drawing her wand.

"Oh, no wand work today." Ellie withdrew her own wand though, and with a gentle wave, she produced a set of gleaming knives that hovered in the air in front of her. She motioned for them all to line up. "Please take a knife and try to hit," she paused, examining the family tapestry hanging on the opposite wall, "Bellatrix Lestrange, please. Aim for the middle of the face."

"Are you serious?" Fred asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Trust me, lovely," Ellie said with a surprisingly sharp look, "these goblins will know how to fight with knives. You'll need to aim for their faces or necks, where they're least likely to be wearing goblin armour. You need to kill on the first hit." Their instructor forced a smile. "So, who first?"

* * *

Teddy had not managed to get a knife into Bellatrix Lestrange's face for the first eight tries. In fact, it wasn't until the fourth try that the knife even stuck in the wall.

Fred and Victoire were naturals. Fred managed to hit the bullseye on his third try, but he was putting too much force behind the throw, and it was disrupting his accuracy. It only took him five minutes to master a no spin throw. Victoire hit the face on the first try, and by the third, she was hitting Bellatrix's right, beady black eye every time, until a tear began to appear in the cloth.

Ellie Cattermole was all soft encouragement and reassuring gestures, but for a woman so small and slight, she carried an incredible amount of force. She threw three knives in demonstration, one after another, the handle turning over the blade. They always found their mark.

Teddy was good with surveillance but the idea of fighting, of throwing a knife with the intent to kill, scared him witless. With relief, he was glad to see he was not the only one. Dominique was struggling. Her arm was strong, but with every throw, she flinched away from her own wrist as if frightened of the recoil. No matter how much instruction she was given, she did not hit the target. Every knife clattered to the floor.

Victoire returned the knives she was using and thanked Ellie Cattermole when their two hours were up. Without missing a beat, Teddy followed her out in the narrow corridor.

"Vic," he said, catching himself on her nickname. They may be feinting friendship in order to work together, but being too familiar with her would only work her up. "I need a quick word."

She skidded to a halt, her hands on her hips. She glared at him, an eyebrow raised. The nickname had definitely been mistake. Teddy stopped, unsure how to say what he needed to say. He wasn't used to a hostile Victoire—this was out his comfort zone. He cleared his throat. "Be careful."

" _What_?" she countered, offended. " _You_ be careful."

"No—I mean—be careful of the goblins."

Victoire's steely expression was cracking now, her bemusement leaking through. She pressed down the corners of her mouth. "Er, again, I think that's rather general advice to give to Order members, Ted."

"They're trailing your family," he said, swallowing hard.

"My parents?" Victoire replied, her hands dropping from her hips.

"They're particularly interested in you."

Her face unwound, all hostility gone now. Concern danced behind her blue eyes and she seemed far away. "In me," she said, biting her lip. "Why's that."

"I dunno," Teddy frowned. He took another step towards her, so they were only a foot away from each other. Her hand wound around the banister but her eyes didn't leave his. "I just wanted to warn you."

"Right. Thanks, Teddy." She cleared her throat, and nodded to him, her eyes flickering back into focus. She was the one to hesitate now, and he struggled to read that expression, what laid behind it. "You're a good friend."

She took the stairs two at a time, reaching the second landing before he had even exhaled his breath.

Right. Friend.

* * *

 **A/N: Scorpius and Rose were supposed to reunite this chapter but I had to push it to Chapter Three (sorry). Instead, you get Rose/Zabini secret pain moments! Also, I am the Isabella in this story, I literally don't get economics. I had to talk it through with my dad in lengthy discussions and I still don't get it.**

 **Edit: Everyone is panicking with my flash forward lines. Please, don't. The flash forward lines never mean what they seem, and they're there because they refer to important plot points or motifs that I need the reader to remember later. There are a million reasons why Rose could fall in and out of love with Scorpius (I bet none of you can guess the reason either) and none of which will involve them breaking up. They are 100% endgame, just trust what I'm doing ;)**

 **The gang will be together next chapter, with Al, Rose and Scorpius getting up to all kinds of whacky shenanigans.**

 **Until then, review and adieu x**


	3. Chapter Three

—CHAPTER THREE—

It's an almost undeniable fact that we seek people who see the world in the same way we do. We try to find ourselves in other people.

Rose couldn't be certain whether she had found _enough_ of herself in Scorpius. There were certainly bits and pieces she recognised—their shared love for knowledge, their thirst for ambition and their struggle to accept overbearing family influence. They had quite a few commonalities.

But the similarities stopped short there. For she was loud, attention-seeking and clumsy. He was quiet, reserved and collected. They hadn't even spent a great deal of time together without arguing. Rose had no idea what to expect. She had no idea what _dating Scorpius Malfoy_ would entail.

She was home alone, the house perfectly silent. And she was pacing before the fireplace.

Her long, wavy red hair was half up, pulled away from her face. She wasn't wearing make-up, because that would have been a giveaway. Her parents would have found it strange. Still, she had spent over forty minutes picking out her clothes. High-waisted jeans and a floral crop-top. Her red sneakers. Sneakers that were pacing, pacing, pacing.

She had decided, some time ago, that expectation was the executioner of enjoyment. She wasn't sure when she had decided that. Perhaps around the time Scorpius rejected her before their Quidditch match. She came to a hesitant standstill by the fireplace. The idea of seeing him, well after a month, made her feel as if she had swallowed a nest of doxy eggs. And she was off again, one foot in front of the next. With each step, she tried to convince herself that there would be no awkwardness between them. They would instantly click. It would be fine.

Still, she was pacing. Pacing meant she was nervous. Nerves meant expectations.

With steely determination, she rooted her sneakers in the centre of the room and took three calming breaths. If he were going to arrive soon, she wanted to appear relaxed.

As the fireplace flared a bright green and her boyfriend stepped out, brushing soot off his jacket, Rose tried to lean as nonchalantly as possible against the sofa.

"You could've cleaned up a bit," he said coolly, motioning over his shoulder at the fireplace.

Without having taken in more than his smirk, she threw herself at him and almost knocked him off his feet. He let out a wheeze. "Are you trying to break my ribs?"

"I missed you, my little weakling," she sighed, breathing in his scent. Heavy and musky, clean cotton and milky skin. She squeezed her arms tighter around him.

"I prefer feeble beau."

She released him, taking the opportunity to study Scorpius properly.

A part of her felt that the letters may have been a bad idea. The letters were all about building up expectations. They had never gone on a date before and they had hardly even wrapped their heads around the idea of being a couple before they went away for the start of the summer holidays. The letters seemed far too chummy now the authors faced one another. The idea of matching that intimacy and repartee now, in the flesh, made her feel twice as shy.

"You grew out your hair," she said. "It's not slicked back anymore."

"Paris changed me," he sighed flamboyantly, flicking a wrist. They had both grown taller, so as always, they were around the same height. She had been wondering whether she would have a few inches on him, but he had somehow caught up. His skin was still a bit sunburnt, his hair unusually wavy. She ran her hands through it. He grew nervous under her look and touch. He self-consciously raised a hand to the top of his head. "What? Does it look ridiculous?"

"Not at all," she said, hastily taking her hand away and taking a further step back. She tilted her head to the side. "You look less like an evil mafia man."

"Wow, quite the compliment." Scorpius' chuckle was genuine. Rose was still a bundle of nerves. It felt like something was fluttering under her fingertips. The idea of touching him again, without the innocent intention of hugging him hello, made her skin burn.

"My parents aren't home," she blurted out, half as a reassurance and half as a invitation. There was an Order meeting being held at Harry's safehouse. Hugo was out with Lily. The house was perfectly empty. "I should give you a quick tour, I suppose."

Scorpius nodded, following her around the sofa. "Your house is lovely."

In her mind, she tried to imagine seeing her house for the first time, from an outsider's eyes. It was cramped, with an additional annex creating a second floor. It was all timber floorboards and stooped ceilings and thick rugs. She pointed towards the room behind him. "It's no Malfoy Manor," she said, laughing nervously. "That's the kitchen. That's the laundry over there. My parent's room is back through there." She walked towards the stairs, taking them two at a time. The tour was taking place at double-time. Scorpius followed her. "That's Hugo's room, and through there is the study on the end, and that's my room on the right."

Scorpius prodded his head through her door and took a step inside. Rose hovered by the desk, half covered in textbooks and old _Quibblers_ and an antique chess board. He shifted a few of the pieces, which stomped exasperatedly back to their posts.

"It's a bit messy," Scorpius said, pursing his lips to keep down a smile.

"If the door opens, it means I've cleaned up," Rose replied, crossing the room to kick her broomstick back under the bed. She took a seat, sinking into her quilt. The teddy bear perched on her cushions fell onto its side, and while Scorpius examined her desk, she shoved it under the pillows.

She was sitting on her bed and Scorpius was standing a few feet away. Her face was on fire. Just that this situation was possible made her feel giddy.

"What's this?" he said, holding something up.

She squinted at him. "My iPod touch."

" _This_ is an Apple product?"

He stared at it in absolute astonishment, turning it over in his hands. Rose stared at him. Momentarily, she had forgotten she was dating a nerd.

She was sitting on her bed in an empty house, but of course Scorpius was more preoccupied in the piece of muggle technology he was encountering for the first time. He turned it over in his hands, stunned. With a sigh, Rose launched herself across the room to join him by the desk. Demonstratively, she swiped her thumb across the bottom of the screen.

"This is mental," Scorpius mumbled, as the apps popped up on the screen. "How does all the music fit in such a thin device?"

"They're like files or something. I dunno. Didn't you cover this in Muggle Studies?"

"We only covered technology under Consumerism, so no. I mean, we looked at the Apple business model and everything. Completely mental."

Rose checked the time at the top of the screen. "If we want to go pick up Albus, we better leave now. It's a bit of a walk."

"Can we take this with us?" Scorpius asked, holding up her iPod.

"Considering it's a portable device, _yes._ Just a second though."

Rose scrounged around her desk until she uncovered a tangled set of earphones. She hadn't used her iPod in years, and the music was a bit out-dated. It had been a birthday gift from her parents, and her grandfather was so endlessly amused by it that it went missing for about a month before turning up again. She tossed Scorpius the earphones and her boyfriend diligently set to undoing the knots.

They locked the front door and exited through the back, where they walked through the garden and past the tire-swing tree, through the back-gate, legs brushing the brambles, and out into the surrounding countryside. After Scorpius was finished untangling the headphones, Rose plugged them into their socket and began to scroll through her music.

"Have you heard of Adele? She was born in Tottenham."

"Darling, I haven't even heard of most magical musicians. Forget about muggles."

"Give her a listen," Rose said, offering him the earbuds. She privately enjoyed being called darling. It was not a word that sounded familiar in his mouth, not a word he used often. He uncertainly put the earbuds in his ears and Rose picked a song off the latest album she had downloaded.

"Fascinating," Scorpius said, placing a thin finger over one of the earbuds. "The music is travelling up the wires into these little shells. Honestly, it's like magic. How do they do it?"

Rose had no idea. She never questioned the mechanics behind things. It seemed those less intuned with the Muggle world were far more curious about the way thing worked. "Muggles are much cleverer than you'd think."

"This woman sounds like Celestina Warbeck," Scorpius said, as they walked slowly down the trail that took them towards the Potter's house.

"How is it you don't listen to the Ministry of Madness but you know Celestina Warbeck?" Rose asked, almost laughing at him.

"My mother controls the Wireless at our house."

They had been walking for about three minutes, and the path was curving gently to the left. Rose picked up the pace. "Just up here, this is my favourite spot."

As they took the bend in the road, Scorpius dropped his left hand and linked it through her right. Rose's lips tweaked into a smile. At least he wasn't utterly clueless.

They reached the crest in the hill, bringing into view a tranquil little pond. Reeds tickled the air around its perimeter and two small ducks waddled close to it's marshy shore. The stillness of the water, reflecting back the deep blue sky in a teal tinted mirror, had a peaceful quality that seeped out with each imperceptible ripple. It's irenic effect was so potent it reminded them both of The Tree of Refuge, deep in the Forbidden Forest, the burial grounds of the oldest Centaur Chieftess. Scorpius squeezed her fingers.

It was absolutely, mundanely muggle—but it felt like a piece of magic.

Rose turned to him, a smile playfully tugging at her lips. She took one of the earphones from him and put it into her own ear. They faced one another, the wires of the earphones drawing them near. She had caught the chorus.

" _When the pain cuts you deep…when the night keeps you from sleeping…"_

"Oh, I love this one," Rose said, closing her eyes. She began to mouth the words. _Just look and you will see, that I will be your remedy._

She felt something gently brush her lips and opened her eyes, surprised, slipping one hand onto his chest to brace herself. Scorpius leaned back to look at her, his grey eyes pale in the clear light, his cherub lips wet. The heat on her cheeks, on her fingers, on her lips was so hot she wasn't sure how she hadn't branded him.

She had expected him to apologise unnecessarily, or to bluster or to grow embarrassed but Scorpius did none of those things. Rose remembered that despite his inexperience, he was the one who always remained calm and collected. She felt his heart rate pick up under her palm, beating twice as hard and twice as fast, as if he had just sprinted across a Quidditch pitch. But his face was totally still, like the pond behind them. For a second, Rose realised it was _she_ who was embarrassed and blustering, with one hand still pressed hard against his chest as if to keep him at bay, and he was still patiently staring at her, as if waiting for her permission.

She gradually slid her hand over his chest and around his neck, touching the hair at the base of his skull. Her own heart was sprinting now. They stared at each other for what felt like an aeonian minute, but must have only been a few seconds.

Then, Scorpius leaned in, his eyes fluttering shut. His lips were soft, as cautious as they had been the very first time. Rose felt as if her heart was in her throat, thumping away, and it was to that pulse that she moved her mouth against his.

His fingers slipped around her waist and she leaned into him. The music continued to play and they swayed gently like the reeds. She found her bottom lip between both of his, being pulled gently. Rose had never felt weak in the knees before; it sounded like a silly expression used in romance books, and she had kissed enough boys to know that it was all talk. But it felt as if someone had hit her with a Jelly-Leg Jinx, and the hands around her waist were there to support her as much as they were there to hold her.

Then the nerves dissolved into something else, something just as vigorous. Something Rose had never really felt before. A culmination of every feeling she had ever felt about him, a sort of itch to peel back every layer of him until they were as close as humanly possible. She understood why her cheeks burned with heat and his fingers seared her waist; she was burning from the inside out.

Scorpius was leaning away, breaking contact, but Rose wasn't ready to extinguish this feeling, not when it had just been ignited. She linked her other hand around his neck and pulled him towards her again, their lips crashing together. His hands snaked down her waist, resting on her hips, following her lead. She ran her tongue over his bottom lip and felt him shiver against her. She couldn't help but smile against his lips before they parted for her.

If it were possible, she would stay rooted to that spot forever. She would stay with that song on repeat, with his hands on her hips, with her mouth on his. If possible, Rose would never move again.

* * *

Rose banged her fist against the red door of the Potter's house four times, hard enough that her knuckles felt bruised. There was still no response from inside.

"Maybe he's not home," Scorpius suggested.

"Er, no. He's definitely home. He's refusing to answer the door."

"C'mon, Albus isn't that immature."

Rose glared at her boyfriend momentarily before looping back down the front steps and around the garden. Scorpius was quick on her heel. They reached the side gate and Rose found a decent place to plant her foot. "I told you, he isn't leaving the house."

"Not even to answer his own door?" Scorpius replied, his eyebrows raised.

"I don't think he even leaves his room if he can help it." Grabbing hold of one of the spires at the top of the gate, Rose hoisted herself up and over it. She dropped to the ground on the other side and unlocked it, holding it open for Scorpius. "Don't worry, I know where they keep the spare key."

A part of her was still mad at Albus for being so reclusive. She didn't mind his anger or his bitterness, feeling they were justified reactions to the recent events transpiring in the Potter household. But she was annoyed with his reclusive behaviour. His father had been forced into hiding—Albus had not. His choice to lock himself away all day was cowardice.

But Rose was trying (and trying was a key word) to be understanding.

"Here," she said, taking the key from under a pot-plant. She made her way to the double glass doors and wiggled the key into the lock. After a moment, they were both inside.

Scorpius gazed around curiously at the Potter's living room, but Rose was already heading down the hall. She beat a fist on Albus' bedroom door. "Oi, Albus! Get up!"

There was the sound of a muffled voice inside, followed by her cousin's sharp reply. "I'm reading, Rose."

"You _hate_ to read. Now open up. I jumped the bloody back gate to get in here, you tosser."

Scorpius sidled up beside her, his face pinched with concern. "Perhaps you should be a bit more sensitive."

"I don't do sensitive," Rose replied, her eyebrows furrowed together. She shouted through the door again. "You promised if I came past your place we would go out together."

"I didn't promise. I said maybe," Albus called back.

"This has gotten to the point of ridiculous. It's been a _month_." There was still no response. "Look, if you wanted someone to coddle you, you should've asked Dom or Fred."

They heard the sound of more muffled grumbling, then a bed creaking. Footsteps. The door still didn't open.

"Will you come back another day, please?"

"Malfoy is here," Rose replied.

The door inched open and Albus peeked through, his green eye bright in the slit of the doorway. Assessing that she wasn't lying, her cousin stuck his head through the door, his black hair poking up in several direction.

"Why in Godric's good name in Malfoy standing in my house?" Albus asked quietly, staring at Rose.

"We're going to hang out today," Rose replied. Scorpius smiled in a painful sort of way, as if he had a toothache.

"Merlin, you are as stubborn as a mule," Albus heaved. "Fine. _Fine_. Give me ten minutes to shower and change."

He slammed the door shut behind him. Rose grinned, satisfied, and progressed back down the hall towards the living room. She looped her thumbs through the waistbands of her jeans. "See? Tough love works every time."

"Tough love sounds efficient but terrifying," Scorpius conceded, taking a seat on the sofa. "Do you happen to do regular love?"

"Nope. Only the tough kind," she said, falling onto the sofa cushion beside him. They were both quiet as they heard feet on floorboards, then a door close and the rush of shower water. Rose looked more deeply satisfied now. She linked her hand with his, making use of their last few minutes alone. "The plan today is to cheer Albus up. We focus all our energy on Albus to make sure he is happy."

"Do you think we should tell him we're dating?"

Rose's face fell. "Didn't you hear what I just said? We need to make sure he is happy. Albus will not be happy if he knows we're dating."

"Are you _sure_ about that?" Malfoy persisted.

"Positive," Rose gave a curt nod. "We decided we weren't going to tell anyone."

"But it's _Albus_ ," Scorpius huffed, loosening his hand and running his sweaty palms over his jeans.

"Stop saying that like it's a reason. Albus is the last person who will approve. Well, second last. My father won't approve. Or my grandfather. Or my uncles."

"Truly reassuring."

"Albus, though," Rose said, getting back on track, "has repeatedly told me he doesn't want us getting together."

Scorpius sighed heavily, his face pinched. "Alright. I just don't see how we're going to keep this a secret from him."

"It'll be fine," Rose said, actually mustering up a reassuring tone this time. "Albus is as observational as a plank of wood. And anyway, I reckon we're rather good at keeping secrets."

Scorpius scoffed. "Er, you must be joking. _I'm_ good at keeping secrets."

Rose leaned in to peck him on the lips. "That was a secret," she said. She pinched his chin in her hand and aimed for his jaw. "And that." Then the crook of his neck. "And _that_."

Scorpius twitched away, as if ticklish. "You missed," he accused.

Rose grinned, moving forward to kiss him more deeply now. He broke away, withdrawing his hand and placing it stiffly on his knee.

"We shouldn't," he said, exercising an impressive amount of self-restraint. "We're in the Potter's house."

"Alone," Rose reminded him, slipping her fingers around his neck.

"Albus could walk out any minute."

"I can hear the shower running," she mumbled against his mouth. Their ache took over then, their bodies pressing against each other to ease the space between their skin. That funny feeling returned in her knees. He sighed against her lips, causing her stomach to tighten into a knot.

Rose broke away, her skin glowing. She felt jittery as the adrenalin finished its race through her veins. It was all so new, so exciting. She had expected the tension they had carried around for more than a year to finally unravel, but now that they were dating, it only seemed to be snowballing. "You're a really good kisser," she murmured, running her fingertips over his face.

"Thank you," Scorpius replied. "I haven't kissed anyone other than you so I really can't return the compliment. For all I know you're a terrible kisser and I just can't tell the difference."

"You're also an arsehole," Rose rectified, planting her hands on his chest.

"Sorry," Scorpius sighed, feigning frustration. "It's genetic."

"It certainly is."

Both of them froze, fingers trembling wherever they had last brushed, shoulders jumping up to their ears. The shower water _was_ still running. Rose slowly peaked around Scorpius' shoulder and her stomach sunk into her red sneakers. Her father was standing on the fringe of the corridor, arms crossed and expression sour.

She couldn't understand it. Her father was supposed to be with Harry. _He was supposed to be with Harry._ What was he doing _here_? For a few seconds, Rose could only stare at him with nothing in her head except for the rush of shower water.

"I am…so sorry, sir."

It was Scorpius speaking through numb lips, his face drained of all colour so he resembled the same shade of his hair. He seemed speechless, as if his apology had leaked out with nothing to follow. As he shut down, Rose heated up.

"Why does this keep _happening_?" she groaned, her face burning with a whole new feeling—humiliation. "Dad, this is the _second_ time you've walked in on me snogging someone!"

"We—I wasn't doing anything untoward," Scorpius stammered, his eyes still on the floor.

Rose stared at her father, the shock wearing off to make space for the reality of the situation. There was no reason for her father to be in the Potter's empty house, and her father would not be standing there in a pair of slippers with a tight blue t-shirt bearing the slogan: _Save the Mermaids!_

"Teddy!" she cried, flying off the sofa and punching him hard in the stomach. He gasped, keeling over and dragging down air. By the time he had caught his breath, he had returned to his usual age. His red hair had turned blue, his blue eyes had turned brown, and he was Teddy Lupin again—chagrined and winded.

"Bloody hell, you can pack a punch."

"Oh mother of Merlin," Scorpius sighed shakily, his head collapsing into his hands, deflating further into the sofa. "Merlin's pants."

Rose was furious, hands on hips and full of fire. "You broke him," pointing at Scorpius' crumpled figure. "He _never_ says Merlin's pants."

"You gave me the perfect opportunity," Teddy guffawed, shoving her a little. Rose was not amused at all. "Albus didn't tell you I was still home, did he?" he added, grinning cheekily. He loped around to the back of the sofa, planting his hand on Scorpius' shoulder. He only moaned quietly. "I'm excited about this. How long has this been going on for?"

"Nothing's been going on," Rose said firmly.

"So you weren't just snogging him then?" Teddy asked casually. "You just happened to accidentally fall onto each other's faces. With your mouths open."

"That's—look, we were just snogging," Rose retorted crisply. "It was a one time, no strings attached…snog."

"A snog and some banter afterwards," Teddy said, nodding primly. "Promising banter. And you know what! I called this. Ages ago—" he eagerly thumped Scorpius on the shoulder, this time startling him upright. "Remember back when I gave that terrible talk at Hogwarts for your Social Justice meetings? I guessed you were going out then."

"We weren't together then," Scorpius said quickly, taking his hands away from his face.

"So you _are_ together now? I offer my congratulations," he held out a hand to shake, which Scorpius only stared at. "I'm sure grandpa Weasley will be thrilled."

Rose crossed the room in three long strides and gripped Teddy's t-shirt around the collar. The young man actually winced. Rose remembered a time when she was still quite young and she had developed a healthy little crush on the blue haired ragger standing before her. She drew on all the authority she usually summoned during prefect patrols and tried to forget about the soft spot he held in her heart. "This is a secret, Teddy. No one knows about it and no one will know about it."

"Are you ashamed you're dating Malfoy?" Teddy guessed, looking concerned.

"Oi!" Scorpius snapped.

"No," Rose replied, scandalised. "Of course not."

"What's with the secrecy then?"

"Remember when you were still in school and you made out with Vic and it was all over the papers?" Rose said scathingly.

The grin slid off Teddy's face like yolk. "Oh."

"And remember when you broke up with Vic last year and it was _all over the papers_?"

"I see your point," he conceded.

"This stays a secret until we decide to disclose it. Our families have a tense history and I bet Skeeter would have a field day if it got around to her," Rose said, her eyes steely. "So your lips are sealed."

"You're talking to the king of secrets," Teddy said, giving a wane smile. Rose knew he was right, and she knew she could trust him. She released his shirt. Teddy patted down the creases and walked around the sofa, taking the seat beside Malfoy. "How'd you get Albus to leave his bedroom? I've been trying to do that all week."

"I have charisma," Scorpius replied dryly, only just beginning to get his colour back.

"I doubt it, blondie," Teddy frowned. "Ever since I moved into his room, I get the sense he hates me a bit. I'm forcing my company on him."

"You're _in_ his room now?" Rose replied, horrified.

"Ginny's idea," Teddy heaved. "But I'll be moving out soon."

"Aren't you supposed to be…out, now," she said, raising her eyebrows. Teddy was in the Order, he should probably be at whatever meeting her father and Albus' father were attending.

"I have a private appointment actually," he said with a wink. "In about half an hour. I ought to get dressed."

"I'd say. That mermaid shirt is rather tacky," Scorpius remarked.

"I liked him better when he was talking about politics," he muttered to Rose, tweaking his head in Scorpius' direction.

Scorpius rolled his eyes. He had a certain look about him, as if he was about to taunt. He did that whenever he was feeling self-conscious. Rose remembered that look, from a time not so long ago where she was the one being taunted.

"Did you notice the world of good it did, elevating the goblins to the same status as wizards?" he drawled, his tone cutting.

Teddy stopped in his tracks, leaning against the mantelpiece and regarding Scorpius as if he were something to marvel. "This kid has an elephant's memory," he told Rose, gesturing with his thumb. He addressed Scorpius directly, playfully, like he was warming up for a debate. "I was wrong back then. But I do think some good will come out of this when it's all over."

"You think something good can come out of a revolt?" Scorpius scoffed.

"I do," Teddy said earnestly. "I don't agree with the goblins. I don't agree with what they're doing anymore. But I do believe in the power of a revolution."

Scorpius looked less convinced, so Teddy went on, his voice full in a way that Rose hadn't heard for a long time. "I reckon we _can_ make a lasting change, that we can enter a period of peace and equality. I remember what you said to me that night, Malfoy—the night of the social justice talk. That a revolt can overthrow autocratic despotism, but never fix a manner of thinking. That there will be a new bias that'll become a leash for the great unthinking mass." Teddy chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. His face had turned pink. "I remember thinking, did this kid swallow a bleeding encyclopedia? I heard some fifteen year old kid spout that and it was like someone let all the air out of me. I really did give up hope there for a while. But I have hope again. There are goblins who don't believe in the goblin right's movement. There are wizards and witches who are smart enough to resist the new biases and separate themselves from the great, unthinking mass. And I have hope we'll achieve equality, maybe not yet. But soon." Teddy hesitated, his dark eyes twinkling and the wolf tattoo on his arm straining its neck as it silently howled. "Eventually."

Scorpius stared at Teddy, his expression a cross between amusement and exasperation. "You're still so liberal. So… So idealistic."

"And I'm guessing you're still right-wing," Teddy grinned.

"I'm apolitical. I don't choose sides," Scorpius replied coldly.

"You choose sides," Rose said quietly. Her eyes flickered towards him.

Scorpius pursed his lips before swallowing hard. "I lean towards a more conservative ideology. It's not because I'm a neo-death eater or because I'm a pureblood supremacist. I just think equality is an abstract ideal."

"You think it's abstract?" Teddy raised his eyebrows. "How old are you?"

"I'm almost an adult," Scorpius snapped, tired of being patronised. "And I think about this stuff more than most adults do, so don't belittle me."

"I'm not," Teddy replied, holding his hands up in surrender. "I'm just impressed."

The shower water had stopped running. Rose listened out for the sound of the plumbing gurgle to a halt. Her cousin's wet feet on the tiled floor and the ruffle of a towel down the hall. Her mind was full of all these words, washing of her like the shower water. As always, Rose found herself absorbing things that felt far too big for the inside of her skull. Both sides sounded acceptable, agreeable. It made her feel ignorant.

"That's what determines my stance," Scorpius explained. "I don't think we will ever alleviate the world's inequalities. I don't think we should actively benefit from inequality either, but I do believe they will always exist. That's why I'm conservative." He looked up at Teddy, his pale grey eyes colourless.

"You only say that because the system you believe in guarantees that you're advantaged over others," Teddy replied, all the jeer gone.

"I believe that inequality is inevitable; you believe it's the product of systemic injustice. Let me ask you, what system will ensure that there is no injustice?"

"Not one that's proven to work, as of yet," Teddy conceded, as if unfazed.

"Right. But you still believe that distributing resources fairly and equalising opportunity will make us all equal." Scorpius shook his head. "I just don't think it ever will. Even if all opportunity was equal, some would excel while others would not. Someone will always climb to the top of the foodchain, someone will always be brighter or better. That is what a revolution is. Upheaving the foodchain, finding someone new to put on top of the pyramid. Gladstone, then the goblins, then the wizards. We go around in circles."

"You're a very cynical sixteen year old," Teddy smiled warily.

"Cynical and apolitical," Scorpius said quietly.

"I do believe all magical creatures and even all non-magical creatures will be equals one day," Teddy said, launching himself back off the sofa, hands on knees. "I think we'll find that system eventually, through a bit more trial and error."

"I can't say anything to shatter an idealist," Scorpius shrugged. "But I just can't see it from that perspective."

Teddy laughed, delighted, as if the whole conversation had been some sort of exercise. Rose looked up to find Albus leaning against the wall, his black hair wet and his t-shirt flecked with water. He was silently observing, just like she was.

Teddy turned to Rose, stealing her attention back. "You know, my final assessment of Malfoy is that he's a pretty decent bloke, even if he's right-wing neo-death eater."

"I said that I lean towards moderate conservative ideologies," Scorpius corrected. "And never call me a bloke again."

Teddy bowed and pretended to tip an invisible hat. "My apologies, young squire."

He turned on his slippered heel and winked at Albus as he passed. "This was a great chat, but I need to take off. You lot should go ahead. I'll lock up."

Albus walked over to collect his wallet and his wand, tucking them into the pockets of his jeans. He motioned towards the front door. "Let's go."

* * *

As the trio arrived in Ottery St. Catchpole, the clouds were beginning to roll across the sky. Muggles that walked their dogs picked up the pace to get back to their houses. It looked like it might rain.

"Lunch first?" Scorpius requested.

"It's too early," Albus said.

They progressed further down the main strip. The village was small, with little to do and little to see. They all stopped outside the church, resting on the spired fence that surrounded the grounds, weeds and ivy winding their way around the poles. They were uncomfortable against Rose's shoulders.

"Let's do something to cheer Al up and then get lunch," Rose suggested.

"Look around, Rose. There's nothing here that'll cheer me up," Albus snapped.

"Albus Severus Potter, do you want me to smack you?" Rose demanded, jumping away from the fence. "So help me, I will."

"Rose, how could you possibly imagine that'll make him feel better?" Scorpius scowled, placing a hand on Albus' shoulder. Albus only rolled his eyes. It felt like they were putting on a play for his benefit.

"I'm going to smack some _sense_ into him!"

"Don't be so violent, it's not lady-like."

"Fight me, Malfoy."

"You need to calm down, Rose."

"I said _fight_ me," she spat, raising her fists.

Scorpius hesitated, his eyes wide and his voice quiet, unsure as to whether she was joking anymore. "I-I'm frightened to."

Albus burst into laughter, running a hand over his jaw. He shook his head in disbelief, and both Rose and Scorpius turned to stare at him.

"I don't know when we all became friends," Albus said, getting off the fence. "But it's going to lead to a lot of drama." He grabbed Rose's hand and pulled her away from Scorpius. "C'mon, let's go do something cheerful."

Rose winked at Scorpius sneakily before setting off down the street once more, and as the two boys followed, the first few raindrops fell. They all picked up the pace. It was confusing to Scorpius, who had never had family around his age, who couldn't ever grasp the Weasley Potter dynamic, who didn't understand their strange language. It was as if Albus and Rose were wired to move in the same direction.

Rose ducked into a shop up ahead as the skies split and water poured down, hitting the cobbled street like paint, turning the stones a dark grey. Albus and Scorpius jogged after her, following her into an overstuffed junk shop at the end of the lane. It was filled with the musty smell of mothballs, like the back of his grandparent's closet. Old trunks and broken furniture crowded their knees, and clothes that looked weathered and moth-eaten were hanging along the back. The lighting was dim and the sound of the rain drummed on the roof.

"Hi Doris," Rose said, moseying up to the counter. An ancient muggle woman, all sagging skin and false teeth, smiled genially at Rose. Her eyes were clouded with cataracts.

"What's that dear?" she said, alarmingly loud.

"We're just going to have a browse, look at all the useless crap that's been donated," Rose patted the countertop kindly before stepping past her. She turned around to face the boys. "Welcome to the Salvation Army, Scorpius, where everyone's belongings come to die."

"What is this place," he scowled, looking around with a wrinkled nose. "Do people buy these things?"

"We have some lovely new coats, dears!" Doris yelled, startling them all. She was looking well past them, as if addressing someone else.

"It's called thrifting," Albus said, progressing down the shop.

"No, absolutely not," Scorpius snapped, crossing his arms. "I'm not going to buy some dead person's belongings."

"They're not necessarily dead," Rose replied, picking up a brassy hand mirror with a crack in the glass. She twisted it back and forth in her hand before searching in the box beneath the counter.

Albus was standing by a rack with various glasses. Some were for the vision impaired while others were sunglasses. They all looked riotously out-dated. He picked up a pair of half-moon specs and put them on, making his green eyes appear half their size. Scorpius leaned against the rack, delicately picking out a pair of thick-framed bifocals to try on.

"Rose is well meaning," Scorpius began, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose, "but no one is forcing you to be cheerful, you know."

"It's how she looks out for me," Albus said, smiling ruefully. "It's what we do."

"Would you like to talk about it instead?" Scorpius asked, biting his lip.

He remembered Albus sitting next to him at the Three Broomsticks once, promising him that he didn't mind sitting in silence beside him. He remembered how often he was humbled by Albus' humility. It was time Scorpius showed the same consideration.

Albus took off the glasses, placing them back on the rack, and running his fingers down the other pairs. "I'm kind of angry with my Dad at the moment," he admitted.

Scorpius picked out a pair of thick sunglasses with tortoiseshell frames and put them on Albus's face. "Well, I'm almost always angry at my Dad," he said, matter of fact. "That doesn't mean I don't love him. I just have a lot of low-key rage. Do you ever fantasize about being disowned?

Albus raised his eyebrows. "Er…no?"

"Right, that was er…a weird question. Sorry." Scorpius cleared his throat and busied himself polishing his own glasses. He was never very good at this, the talking side of things, and was beginning to appreciate Rose's methodology a bit more. "Why do you hate your Dad at the moment? Is it because you're named Albus Severus? Because I'm named Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy."

Albus nodded slowly, his eyes not dropping from Scorpius'. "Our parents must hate us."

Rose approached them from the other side of the shop, a stack of mirrors in her hands and a thick, fake fur coat thrown over her shoulder. Her elbows collided with chipped china tea sets and old willow patterned vases, but miraculously, nothing on the shelves fell.

"Would you mind holding these for a minute," she asked Scorpius, handing him the stack of mirrors. She turned to her cousin. "You should try this on."

"It's hideous," Albus stated, staring over the top of his sunglasses. "I'll take it."

Rose handed him the coat and he disappeared into the back changing room, swiping the dreadful, orange curtain over the cubicle.

"Is this what muggles do for fun?" Scorpius asked, picking up a pair of pink, heart-shaped glasses and sliding them onto Rose's face. She winced as he poked her ear. She placed her hand over his to secure them properly.

"Er, I dunno. Maybe?" she shrugged her shoulders. "I like to come here because Maureen is as lonely and deaf as an old badger, and I like to think of this place as a museum of people's old, weird, unwanted stuff."

"I thought you said her name was Doris."

"I dunno her name, I call her names I think suit her," Rose said. "She's really deaf and whenever I used to ask for her name she would just shout nonsense at me."

Scorpius was finding it very hard not to laugh. This is what Rose enjoyed doing in her free time. He smuggled the smile off his face and motioned to the items she had burdened him with. "What's with the mirrors?"

"Oh, right," Rose said, taking them back. They were all mismatched, but around the same size. "I'll explain that later."

Albus whipped the curtain back again, progressing out of the changing room. The furry coat he was wearing was moulding in sections and had a false leopard spot pattern around the collar. Rose leaned back into Scorpius, admiring her cousin's apparel. "Doesn't he just look gorgeous?" Rose said, patting Scorpius' arm. "Tell him that he looks gorgeous."

"Merlin, you look gorgeous," Scorpius said, lowering his glasses once more.

"I'm not sure I _feel_ gorgeous though." Albus played at being uncertain, tugging at the collar and the tail as he twisted in front of a full-length mirror. "I think I'd prefer something longer."

"Alright," Rose nodded, searching around their vicinity. She moved a few coat hangers down their racks before pulling a long, black coat out and tossing it at Albus. "Try this."

He disappeared back behind the curtain and Rose leaned into Scorpius again. Albus threw the fur coat over the top of the cubicle and Scorpius caught it. Some of the fur fell away in his hands. With disgust, he slung it back over a hook in the wall. "Filthy. Do you think that belonged to a dead person?"

"Why does that bother you so much?" Rose laughed. She linked her fingers through his and smiled. Scorpius smiled back. With his free hand, he tapped her heart-shaped sunnies.

"These make your eyes look violet."

"I think I'll have to purchase them, then."

Albus emerged once more, wearing a leather trench coat that skimmed his ankles. He wrapped it tightly around himself and paraded towards them. Rose and Scorpius released their hands and moved away from each other, effortlessly.

"You look like you're going to flash someone," Scorpius said.

"I like it," Albus agreed. "I could go naked under this and who would know?"

"I don't think anyone would want to know." Rose pulled a face.

They had cheered Albus up, though, and with their objective met, they returned to Doris-Maureen to pay for their sunglasses, mirrors and trench coat. Rose impatiently helped the old woman behind the counter pack their items into a plastic bag, while reminding the others that if she ever got to such a point, they were more than welcome to suffocate her in her sleep.

"What's with all the mirrors?" Albus asked Scorpius as Rose handled the muggle money.

"Rose is really vain and wants to stare at herself from all angles."

"I heard that," she hollered.

"What?" Doris cawed.

The rain hadn't eased, so they dragged their shirts over their heads and ran with their wet sneakers pounding into the cobble stones. They bolted by the tiny cinema, the paper shop, the small supermarket and the grey church on the corner. Just as the sandstone façade of the pub was in view, Rose stopped running. She tilted her face towards the sky and grinned. As they boys went to pass her, she grabbed both their jackets and almost set them tumbling.

"What?" Scorpius gasped, throwing his arms over his head.

"It's a sun shower," Rose laughed, dashing to several potholes in the middle of the empty street.

With a wild, childish laugh, she jumped into the largest one, splattering her red sneakers with muddy water. Scorpius gaped at her in disbelief, but Albus only grinned and grabbed his arm. "C'mon."

Careering through the rain was senseless and silly and childish, none of the things Scorpius had ever been, but all of the things these two cousins represented—the rain staining their hair and shoulders and shoes. Rose was elated that they had joined her, grabbing both their hands and galloping around them. But the midday shower was already beginning to pass as the clouds shifted, the sun becoming ever so brighter, so the drops became spittle and then nothing at all. Panting they returned to the pavement and headed towards the pub. Albus was grinning now, blinking the water out of his eyes.

And Scorpius had the feeling that dating Rose and befriending Albus would mean a lot more of this, and he didn't exactly mind.

* * *

They ate burgers and drank diet cokes, which Scorpius found remarkable. Albus watched him spend several minutes investigating the label on the bottle. It was highly amusing.

The last time he had come here with Rose, Albus had been contemplating whether or not he should break up with Lucy Bird. It seemed like such a trivial problem compared to everything raging around in his head now, compared to his father's supposed disappearance, compared to the Order's secret missions, compared to the goblins and Gladstone. Big, frightening, unsolvable problems romped around in his head, and love life trifles were juvenile.

He ate another chip and Rose licked her fingers and Scorpius traced his fingers over the Coca-Cola label.

"You know what you said earlier," Albus said, pointing a chip at Scorpius. "I don't agree with you."

"With what?" Scorpius said, sliding the bottle away.

"With your moderate apolitical cynicism," Albus said, his mouth twisting into a smile.

"You think equality is achievable," Scorpius guessed.

"No," Albus said slowly, as if clarifying for himself. "No, I'm not really sure about that. Maybe it _is_ an abstract ideal. I dunno. That's not what I dislike."

Scorpius leaned his elbows on the table, squinting at Albus. "What do you dislike then? That I'm more right than left?"

"That you say you're apolitical," Albus said, taking the Coca-Cola bottle and twisting on the table, spinning it like a top. Scorpius frowned, watching him. "You said you don't choose sides. You sit on the fence. That's what the Malfoys do nowadays, isn't it?"

"Well…" He was uncomfortable. Albus had said something that had made him uncomfortable. It wasn't questioning his argument or his own political stance—it was bringing up his family. Scorpius tucked his hands under the table. "We don't like to draw attention to ourselves."

"Unlike my family," Albus said, stifling a snort. He set the glass bottle hard on the table. Rose was watching him anxiously, biting the inside of her cheek. Albus didn't want to be scrutinised. As annoying as Rose's arrogant snap-out-of-it attitude was, he preferred it to being watched. To being analysed.

"I don't see why I should pick a side," Scorpius scowled.

"That's the problem with intellectuals," Albus laughed, sliding the rest of his chips over to Rose to distract her. "You can see both sides clearly but you refuse to act. You _have_ chosen a side; you're just not active about it. Rose may have no idea what's going on when it comes to politics, but when it comes to the crunch, she will act."

"Hey," Rose said in soft outrage. He ignored her.

"That's the problem with you, Scorpius. You're all thinking and no action." Albus' tone was harder now, the bitterness seeping back in. He didn't like the way it turned his voice sour. Spending weeks alone, hardly bothering with decent conversation, had turned him hard. He had never been a hard person. "You're just as bad as the witches and wizards who are ignorant, but worse even, because while they don't stand up for themselves out of stupidity, you don't stand up for yourself out of disinterest." Rose placed her hand discretely on Albus' leg, a warning. He got his last few words out before being interrupted. "And cynicism."

"Don't attack him," Rose said quietly. "He's not the one you're angry at."

Albus glared at the table, his face heavy and drawn, as if the clouds had fled the sky to occupy his mood instead. This was why Rose was firm with him, he knew. He was unpleasant when he was like this.

Scorpius was far more forgiving than he expected.

"Who are you angry at?" Scorpius asked. "Really angry at? Your Dad?"

"No," Albus snapped.

"Gladstone? The goblins?"

"No—no, none of them," Albus said, his voice taking on a level of desperation.

"Who?"

"Myself," he said, like a forced confession. "I'm angry with myself, alright? I should be doing something. _I_ should be picking a side, I should be fighting." He looked up at them, his green eyes bright. "I have this—this _need_ to prove myself."

"You don't need to prove anything," Rose frowned, dragging a hand through his messy, wet hair.

"I've never really felt that before," he said, shaking her off. "I never felt like I had to. When I was Sorted, the Hat considered putting me in Slytherin, but I didn't want to be there. I was named after two men, one a Gryffindor and one a Slytherin. Both were honourable, both were brave, but only at the end. They weren't good people, they just did some really good things. I wanted to choose Gryffindor over Slytherin because I wanted to let myself decide my fate, not the Sorting Hat. I wanted to pick a side. I didn't want to value ambition over bravery. But I do now. I need to prove that I am brave and honourable. I want to prove myself."

Both were silent in the wake of this outburst, the two Slytherins unsure what to say. Albus felt embarrassed, as if they had caught him exposed, undressed and unarmed. He felt a bit teary too, and he hated himself for his sensitivity in that moment. He hated himself for his softness. He wished he were brash like James or sharp like Lily. Instead he was the middle-child, the fence-sitter, the diplomat. He hated it. He blinked rapidly to move the tears out of his eyes.

"We get it," Scorpius said quietly. He glanced at Rose, who chewed her lip but only had eyes for her cousin. "We get it more than anyone else. Both of us—Rose and I—we're desperate to prove ourselves. It's all we ever do. It's probably the reason why the Sorting Hat didn't even hesitate on us."

"And I think there's something wonderful about wanting to prove yourself," Rose said, slipping her hand into his. "You want to be brave and you want to be honourable. If your ambition is to be a better person, I don't see why you should be so hard on yourself."

They were silent for a little while. Albus wondered what it would be like to have grown up in Slytherin. Rose rarely talked about it. He wondered whether there would be a freedom to break the mould so completely. He wondered.

But he also loved the light of the Gryffindor common room, the way the sun spilled liquid gold through the windows when it set. He loved the ridiculous after parties and he loved having long chats with the Fat Lady.

He loved being brave. Not daring like James or fearless like Lily. He had a quiet courage, the kind that made him compassionate.

And he had a thirst to prove himself. And it looked like his two closest friends were Slytherins. And he didn't want the choice to go back to when he was eleven, because the choices he made then had made him the person he was now.

"Sorry I was so rude," Albus sighed. "I feel like I needed to get a lot of that off my chest."

"It's fine," Rose said, relief now staining her expression. "My tough love technique did the trick."

"Er, excuse me," Scorpius drawled, raising his eyebrows. "It was my sensitivity that prevailed."

"I'm not sure why you two didn't become friends sooner," was Albus' snarky remark before he rose from his seat to pay for their lunch.

* * *

Rose decided that they would return to her house. She was cold and damp after running around in the rain, so she wore Albus' hideous new-old trench coat and had to listen to both boys make jokes about her flashing innocent children on their way home.

She didn't mind it in the slightest.

Albus had spent all month cooped up at the Potters, and she wanted to delay his return for as long as possible. Despite his occasional troubled demeanour, he seemed far brighter than he had all holidays. Not exactly like his old self—he had been weighed down too much in recent months to ever return to that younger self—but far more amicable and easy-going. Albus had always been a happy-go-lucky sort of person, and perhaps shedding that skin was just a part of maturing.

Nevertheless, Rose was relieved. She could deal with Albus being snarky and moody and a bit impetuous. As long as she had her friend, she would put up with any state he was in.

"What's with the mirrors?" he asked again, motioning to the plastic bag swinging from her hand. She could see her house now, just at the end of the dirt road they were following.

"I'll explain in a minute," she replied. By this hour, her father may have returned home, unless he was caught up in some Auror business. It made her anxious, the idea of Scorpius _really_ confronting her father. She wasn't sure if he was ready for that.

She unlocked the front door and let them both inside first. It was only as she locked up after them that she noticed Hugo's shoes at the front door.

"Hugo?" she called, walking ahead of the others into the living room.

He was lying across the sofa, a book propped up on his chest, reading with his eyebrows scrunched together. It was the same look her mother wore when she was concentrating. Albus and Scorpius trotted up behind her.

"Oi, is Dad home?"

"Nope," he said, turning a page.

"Can you move upstairs for a bit?" Rose requested.

Her brother peered over the top of his book. "No."

"Oh, c'mon Hugo. There's one of you and three of us."

"This is not a democracy, Rose," he complained. Hugo sat up properly now, tucking his feet under him. His eyes surveyed Albus and Scorpius over his sister's shoulders. "You're welcome to join me."

"No way," Rose huffed. "No little brothers allowed."

For certain, Hugo would try to humiliate her in front of Scorpius.

"Then I'm not moving," he shrugged.

"Come one, let's go outside," Albus suggested.

"But it'll rain," Scorpius complained.

"Please Hugo," Rose said, frustrated to be begging him in front of the others. As usual, they resorted to their usual bargaining. "I'll do your laundry. I'll even wash up tonight," she appeared to have his attention now.

"If you play a game of Gobstones with me, I'll move."

"Er, absolutely not," Rose said, folding her arms. "No more Gobstones. I am sick of Gobstones."

"I'll play Gobstones with you," Scorpius shrugged.

That's how they ended up staying in the living room, and that's how Hugo ended up playing three rounds of Gobstones with Albus and Scorpius. Remarkably, Scorpius beat Hugo two out of three. Rose was somewhat mortified. He was entering a whole new realm of nerd-like behaviour. It was a marvel that none of the Slytherins had eaten Scorpius alive.

Meanwhile, Rose had dug up several books from her mother's study and was pursuing them diligently, trailing through indexes, folding down pages and jotting down spells.

"What are you doing?" Albus complained.

"I'm consulting books," Rose replied. "While you all play with your putrid marbles."

"It's a game of skill," Scorpius defended as Hugo took his turn.

"It's a game of chance," Rose replied haughtily.

"I'm really just trying to squirt Scorpius," Albus shrugged.

"So much sexual subtext," Rose muttered, aware of her immaturity and her resentment. Scorpius stifled a laugh, clearly having overheard her, even if her younger brother had not. He was far too intent on the game.

"How'd you get so good at this?" Hugo demanded of Scorpius.

"When I was younger, I used to play with myself," Scorpius replied, aiming his marble at the hole in the centre of the board.

"Wow," Rose said slowly, flipping another page. Albus began to laugh.

"I used to play the _game_ by myself," he corrected, giving them both a scathing look. "I didn't have friends my own age growing up."

There was a bit of longing in that final statement.

Hugo knocked his marble in the centre of the hole, winning the game. He grinned, beginning to collect the pieces and return them to their container. "You should consider joining the Hogwarts team," he said, looking at Scorpius was a surprising amount of admiration, certainly an admiration that had not existed earlier. "We could use an older student."

"If he joins your nerdy little club, I will refuse to speak to him," Rose said drolly, turning another page and underlining a spell. She looked up at her brother who was glaring at her now. "We played your dumb game so you have to go now. That was the deal."

Hugo snatched up his book and the board game, shoving it under his arm before stomping out of the room, up the stairs, and slamming the door behind him. Scorpius watched him storm away before turning to Rose with a reproachful look. "You didn't have to be so mean," he said.

"They're always like that," Albus replied. "That's what siblings are like."

He crawled across the carpet to where Rose was crouched, now shuffling her paper out in front of her. She retrieved the mirrors from the plastic bag and laid them all out carefully in front of them. One was obviously an old manicure mirror, the kind that is found in bathrooms, circular with a silver border. The second had a brassy frame and a long handle, embellished with a neat border. A single crack split the glass. The third was had a green plastic frame and a chunky handle, boxy and square. They all looked quite daggy and not worth keeping.

"Are you going to let us into your little mystery now?" Albus asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"I actually can't perform the spell until an adult's home," she replied, pressing her lips into a thin line. "Otherwise the Ministry will pick up my Trace."

"What spell?" Scorpius frowned.

Rose closed the last book she had been reading and piled it on top of the others. She crossed her legs and faced them. "What would be an easy way to communicate, without having to use fireplaces or owls? Something off the grid."

The boys both paused to think for a moment. Scorpius frowned, but Albus had an answer before either of them said anything. "Matching diaries, like Teddy and Victoire's old ones. You write in one and then what you wrote appears in the other."

"Yes, but there's problems with that," Rose said, frowning. "Problem one being: I have no idea how to do that spell."

"Problem two," Scorpius added, looking concerned, "is that all your conversations would be recorded in those books for anyone to read. There would be no deniability of evidence."

Albus raised his eyebrows. "Are you intending on committing a crime?"

Rose rolled her eyes. "Scorpius has this weird thing where he likes having deniability in case he gets caught rule breaking."

"When do _you_ possibly break the rules?" Albus asked, truly sceptical now. As far as he knew, Scorpius Malfoy had only ever had one detention—the one he had shared with them in the Forbidden Forest.

Rose knew better. "He breaks rules to do nerdy things like make potions in secret."

"Rose!" Scorpius said, his eyes wide. "It's not _in secret_ if you tell people."

"What sort of potions?" Albus asked curiously.

Rose had to brag. It was as if she couldn't help herself. "He's completed the entire N.E.W.T. syllabus."

"Merlin," Albus gasped. "I thought I was ahead on my potions work."

"He's ranked first in our year," Rose reminded him.

"Well, I ranked third in Potions last year," Albus said, quite proud. "Right after Mary Boot."

"Mary Boot is second?" Rose pulled a face.

Scorpius was now glaring at Rose. "If Albus is ranked third, why did you come to me for Potions help in fifth year?"

"Because _you're_ ranked first. Naturally."

"Although it's not much to boast about, didn't Rose beat you in first year?" Albus chuckled. Both Scorpius and Rose shared a muted look.

Uncomfortable with the level of attention he was receiving and the direction the discussion was moving in, Scorpius picked up the plastic mirror and turned it over in his hands. His reflection was thrown back in the dusty glass. "Why the mirrors, Rose?"

"What I was thinking," Rose said, taking it away from him, "was creating three-way mirrors, so we could all speak to each other through them."

It was an amusing idea. They had heard of two-way mirrors before. It was difficult magic, and good quality objects like that were not easy to find.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall," Albus said, recalling the Snow White chant. "That sort of thing?"

"These are hand mirrors, we don't need to hang them," Scorpius replied obtusely.

"I'll do the spell work," Rose said, setting them down again. "And then I'll send them to you both. That way we can easily stay in touch."

Both the boys shrugged, evidently unimpressed by the ingenuity of this idea. Rose was quite proud of herself, though. She gathered up the mirrors and wrapped them in the parchment she had written her notes on. She would work out the charms that evening, when everyone was home.

Scorpius decided to head back to Malfoy Manor soon after this, in order to avoid crossing paths with Rose's parents. The day had been a strange one. All the expectations Rose had resolved not to make had been surpassed. The three of them seemed to just click together, and it was funny that she and Albus hadn't allowed Scorpius into their dynamic sooner, or that Scorpius had been so resistant to joining their company. She felt a quiet sort of ease, that in spite of all their bickering throughout the day, all of their hard words and snarky accusations, they forgave so freely. As if forgiveness needn't be asked.

After treading on eggshells with most of the friends in her life, Rose found it refreshing.

"Thank you for today," Scorpius said, giving them both one armed hugs, brief and quick, his usual shyness retreating back in. He tucked his thumbs ruefully into his pockets. "It's probably been the best day of holidays yet."

"I know," Albus agreed. "All those dead people's clothes we tried on. Certainly my highlight."

Scorpius shuddered, bringing about another round of laughter. Rose found the teapot they kept their floo powder in and offered it to him. His long, thin fingers scratched the bottom as he dug his hand into the fine powder. She remembered how those hands felt on her thigh, on her waist, on her hip, and she felt how most sixteen year old girls were supposed to feel. It felt good.

"I'll see you soon, I suppose," Scorpius said, smiling weakly. He stepped over the grate, cupping one hand under his fist of floo powder to stop any of it falling to the floor. He stood in the fireplace, stooped a little. With a final hesitant look at them both, he threw the powder down around his ankles and stated, "Malfoy Manor." A moment later, he had vanished in a tempest of green flame.

Albus wrapped his arm around Rose and she let her head fall onto his shoulder. After all the drama of the last year, after all the tension of their summer, things finally felt okay. "I'm sorry I bullied you to leave the house today," she said.

Albus smiled. "Thank you for bullying me to leave the house today."

* * *

Victoire jiggled on the spot as she waited in line, the toe of her boot tapping on cement. She couldn't seem to stop the tapping. It was impossible not to have high expectations when going to see a beloved band.

She had been let down before. She had gone to concerts and gigs were the acoustics were terrible, where the bands spent more time playing covers than their original songs, or where the lead singer just didn't sound as good as they did on her turntable. She had tried not to build tonight up too much, considering that she had gotten the tickets only by good fortune and Teddy's generosity, but she was still expecting a lot.

She was tapping. Tapping meant she was nervous. Nerves meant expectations.

She tried to focus on the Bent-Winged Snitches poster above the door.

The Dumbledore Creative Arts Centre had been charmed to look like a sewage treatment plant to avoid muggle suspicion and interest. Although it was not a place where a muggle would like to be seen, it was a hub of the cultural arts for most wizards and witches in England. Showcasing operas, plays, music concerts and art exhibitions, the Dumbledore Creative Arts Centre was renowned for catering to high-class patrons.

Victoire was convinced that The Bent-Winged Snitches would have preferred to hold a concert at an actual sewage treatment plant, but there was little choice with the Statue of Secrecy in place, and when a band was too big to just do a gig in a pub, the Dumbledore Creative Arts Centre was their next best option.

The Snitches would be performing after sundown, and Victoire arrived at the head of the queue with her VIP pass dangling around her neck and her single ticket in hand. She had never gone to a concert alone before; she had been to concerts with Teddy and his friends, or with Krishna, but never by herself. It was both frightening and exhilarating.

She had put a ridiculous amount of thought into her outfit. The concert was indoors, so it was bound to get hot. She wore a tight singlet and a pair of ripped up jeans, knowing that a skirt would only invite stranger's hands up her legs. She had tucked her wand through the bun in her hair so she could hex said strangers if they did proceed to grope her anyway. She also wore her most comfortable combat boots, something Teddy had advised her to do when they went together to their very first concert, after she had turned seventeen. "You'll be doing a lot of standing," he had advised, "and plenty of moshing."

Somewhere, Teddy was here, also without company. She was grateful he had given her his spare ticket but even more grateful that they had not come together. Going to concerts had always been their thing, and she wasn't sure if she could remain _just friends_ if his sweaty hands were linked through hers and the crowd was buffing them together.

Still, she searched the people ahead of her in the line to see if any of them were sporting tattoos or blue hair.

Instead, she noticed security goblins standing by the doors. They were checking bags (Victoire knew from experience not to bring a bag and to keep everything she needed on her person) and stamping ink onto the hands of those admitted inside. They were fully armed, and she recognised the emblem of a sword and wand crossed over their breastplates—they were members of the Elite Squad, the Minister's secret police.

For a split second, she thought about leaving. Posters outside of the venue announced that the building was a 'No Apparition Zone', clearly to avoid concert-crashers. Once she was in, the only way out would be through the front doors. The goblins standing guard there made it feel like she was walking into a lion's den.

But that was impossible. Victoire was the lion. This would be her den.

"Vic," someone said, grasping her shoulder. She jumped and turned around, finding herself face to face with a boy she almost didn't recognise. Five or six years younger. A young Rolf Scamander. He was smiling the same cocky grin, but his eyes were pale, almost blue, and his nose was longer—Luna's nose. He had Rolf's stocky shoulders and cheeky grin, but his mother was there in his face too. She didn't know whether it was Lysander or Lorcan and was gripped with sudden panic.

"Heeey," she said, clasping his shoulder back and nodding with great enthusiasm. She looked over her shoulder and spotted James standing five or six people behind her, clearly minding Lorcan's spot in the line. She and James weren't officially speaking because he had taken Teddy's side after the break up, but James made direct eye contact. He slowly mouthed something. Victoire tweaked her eyebrow, signifying her confusion, and he mouthed it again, more slowly. She tried to copy the shape of his lips. "Lawww-cor—Lorcan," she said, squeezing his shoulder more tightly. "Hey mate, how's it going?"

"Yeah, things are awesome," he said, beaming and oblivious to the fact she had almost called him Lawcorn. "You were around our house recently, right?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, too bad I missed you," Lorcan said, talking right over her.

Victoire's mind was elsewhere. "Yes—yes the article. That was printed yesterday, wasn't it?"

"What?" Lorcan said, his smile not faltering but his eyes puzzled.

Her name wasn't on the article. "Oh, er, nothing. The latest edition of _The Quibbler_ came out yesterday, didn't it?"

"Yeah, it hit the shelves," Lorcan said, with a bit of a high laugh. They were still gripping each other's shoulders, which dawned as Victoire as bizarre. She dropped her arm and shuffled up the line, covering the space that had been left by the people moving in front of her. The look that Lorcan was giving her was very admiring, and she realised why he had gone out of his way to say hello.

She grimaced. It was always disappointing when she gathered that the only reason a boy was speaking to her was because he was admiring her. It made her colder than she wanted to be. "I'd appreciate it if you could get your mum to send me a copy."

He was still eager. It occurred to her how silly seventeen-year-old boys were. He really didn't stand a chance. She was far too old for him. "Right, no problems at all. I'll hook you up. So you're, er…" he ran his hand over his sandy blond hair. "You and Teddy, still split, right?"

Bold, too. Victoire strained her mouth in what she hoped was an apologetic smile. "I think James is calling you back over."

"No he isn't," Lorcan said quickly, not turning to check.

"He definitely is," Victoire said, giving another smile.

"Oh, okay cool. I better—I should get back—have fun at the concert."

As Lorcan returned to his spot in the line, James seemed to be swallowing down his laughter. Victoire sliced a finger across her throat and jabbed it in his direction before heading towards the front of the line.

She never had to worry about that sort of thing with Teddy. Beautiful was never an adjective he used freely around her. There were always other words, words that went deeper than her dainty features and silver-blonde hair, words that meant far more to her. Words like brilliant and clever and gutsy. Teddy had never been in love with Victoire because she was pretty or mesmerising. He had an odd ability to resist that aspect of her charms. It was partly why she enjoyed his company so much.

Men who found her beautiful bored her.

Music pounded through the entrance foyer. She could feel her heart in her throat, the nerves she usually felt before a concert making their appearance. She was on the front steps now, almost inside the building, the music vibrating through her limbs.

A goblin stopped her.

"Any bags that I need to check, ma'am?"

"No," Victoire said, hardly glancing at him.

"Any garlic, silver bullets or other concealed weapons?" the goblin continued.

Victoire hesitated for a moment, tensing slightly. She answered with a question. "Garlic?"

"Some of the performers are vampires," the goblin replied. He was staring at her, his black eyes flickering over her face. "So, no concealed weapons?"

"No," she said again, her face purposefully hard and flat as she resisted the urge to fidget, or look away.

"Your wand and ticket please."

She showed her wand, then her ticket. He proceeded to scan a long, metal probe over both before stamping her hand with ink. A little flickering snitch darted across the rigid tendons near her knuckles, but she only allowed the briefest of admiring glances before she continued inside. Her overwhelming relief was quickly squeezed out by the feeling of adrenalin.

Those ahead and behind her merged towards the doors at the right of the foyer. Music shook her whole body. They rushed through the second set of doors and into the venue.

A cover band was playing—someone British and nondescript—and the crowd was impatiently moshing. Victoire had shown up late to miss the earlier sets. The Snitches would be out in half an hour. The wall of music hit her ears and coursed through her body, and it took a moment to adjust. There was a bar at the back, serving drinks, and golden snitches whizzed over their heads, enchanted to glow and pulse with the throb of the music. One whizzed right by Victoire's ear, startling her.

She realised she was standing at the back of the room, searching the crowd. Still, searching. She shook herself and pushed her way into the throng, determined to stop.

"Are you ready for some warlock rock?" Damian Armando yelled into the microphone. People were shrieking so shrilly it sounded like a cloud of vampire bats had been unleashed into the room. James Potter was one of the people shrieking, his voice so hoarse that he probably would lose the ability to speak for a week. Lorcan's eyes were fixed on the tall, pale woman with the bass, her red lips popping around some red gum.

"This is dedicated to you, London," Damian shouted into his microphone. The first few strums of music rippled over the crowd, eliciting that wonderful moment where the throng recognises which song is about to be played. Everyone began to shriek again as the Bent-Winged Snitches performed one of their radio favourites. Lorcan and James were already drenched in sweat, and they had only been standing for about an hour. It was almost too loud to hear the lead singer. Words exploded into a chorus and gold powder whizzed into the air, dusting their heads.

" _We are flying, for the thrill of it, thrill of it—we are dying, for the thrill of it, thrill of it._ " Damian held out his microphone, and the crowd responded. " _No point in trying_ , _we have to find a new way to get a hit! Let's get lit!"_

The drummer was drumming with his wand and a stick, so whenever he smashed the cymbals, sparks would fly across the stage. The pale woman was shredding her bass and the music was shaking James' bones. It was the most alive he had felt in a long time, and that frightened him. The crowd jumped around him, the ground trembled beneath his feet. He felt elbows in his back and shoulders on his side. Suddenly, he wanted to stop jumping. He was short of breath.

The song was over but people were still screaming. Smoke hazed the air and James tried to find his bearings. Lorcan clapped an arm on his back. "You alright, mate?"

"Yeah," he said, blinking a few times.

There were goblins patrolling the room, more than there had been earlier that night. Most of them had their visors up, but he had recognised a few. If he had recognised a few, it meant those few weren't just goblin militia. They were thugs.

James had only dealt with gangs. Their presence here was making him feel sick.

"This next song, our very own Des wrote," Damian said pointing the microphone to the bass player.

She crossed the stage, smiling disarmingly before taking it, wrapping the cord around her arm. Several audience members whooped in the quiet hush. Desdemona looked directly at them, squinting at little. "Dude, you need to chill." She popped her gum again as the crowd called out, Lorcan one in their number. "So, this next song is all about this time I dated a werewolf. It sort of started as a joke, he was like, you're a vampire, I'm a werewolf, maybe this is meant to be. And then we like, really screwed each other up because we were really dysfunctional. Anyway, I got a hella sick song out of it so no complaints."

The first few strands started as Damian gave her the stage, and the leggy vampire slung her bass behind her back.

"I think Desdemona d'Eath is my dream woman," Lorcan mumbled, utterly dazed as he stared at the American vampire.

"You said that about Victoire, like, an hour ago," James replied, rolling his eyes.

"Victoire just worked some veela-magic on me. What I have with Des is different."

"Yes," James said slowly. "It's called stalking."

 _"_ _You've got a hell of a bark but I'm all bite. I hate the sunshine, you loathe the moonlight. You laugh me off but I'm ready for a fight. So let's escape into the wild city night."_

She crooned out the second verse and James—for a split second, considering he imagined it—heard his name called. But it was definitely his name. He looked around, scanning the crowd, and saw a girl pushing her way towards him.

James had _never_ had a girl push her way towards him.

"Shit," he muttered, looking away.

"What?" Lorcan demanded, annoyed now.

"It's that prissy Slytherin," he muttered. "You know. Nott."

"Shit," Lorcan said. "Wait—why is that shit? She's fit."

"Lately you think everyone's fit. Would you bugger off?" James huffed.

" _Blood Moon. I'm your lunar eclipse. Blood Moon. You're the stake that sticks. You think it's funny, but it hurts like this. Blood Moon. I need to get another fix."_

A hand grabbed his shoulder and he turned, that strange claustrophobia creeping back up again. It was something he couldn't explain.

What was that feeling? Where was it coming from? James had never felt so constricted before, so stifled. It was like something pressing down on his head.

"Hey Potter," Isabella said, smiling boldly. "Scamander."

"Nott," Lorcan said, not looking away. "Don't talk to me while Desdemona is singing."

James smiled uncertainly at Isabella, who was already scanning above his head, looking somewhat annoyed when her eyes grazed the singer on stage. "Albus or Rose aren't here, are they?" she asked.

"No, it's just me and Lorcan," he replied, a little offended now that she hadn't been seeking him out personally.

This only seemed to relieve her though, as if she was settling in to talk to _him_ instead. Desdemona's slow crooning ballad would be fine to talk over for now, but soon he would lose their conversation in the music and crowd. Isabella was now staring at the VIP pass around his neck. "How on earth did you get that?" she demanded, as if it had been stolen.

"I have connections," James winked. "I'm assuming you're standard admission."

This seemed to bother her. She glared up at Desdemona again, quite annoyed. "I hate this song. It always reminded me of Zabini."

"But he's not a werewolf and you're not a vampire."

"I took that as a metaphor, naturally," she sighed.

The thought of André Zabini, who had snogged Rose and shagged just about any girl willing to part her legs for him, made James' stomach turn. He loathed that bloke. "You need to get over him, Nott," he advised.

The changing light flickered over her face briefly in shadow and then in a tinted crimson. She shrugged, unconvinced. "Easier said than done."

"What you need is a rebound," he said, nodding firmly. "Same advice I gave Albus when he broke up with Bird. No one ever seems to listen to me though."

"That's because you can't take your own advice, mate," Lorcan said, his eyes still on Desdemona.

"Oi, sod off."

"Still in love with the barmaid at The Three Broomsticks, then?" Isabella chirped, somewhat sympathetic. The song ended, blending into the whooping and cheers of the crowd. She shrugged, turning back to the stage. "What can you do?"

Damian was taking the microphone back, motioning to the drummer who was snapping his sticks in the air, counting in the next song. That claustrophobic feeling had not subsided yet, even though Isabella Nott was far more focused on the next number than the boys beside her. And it dawned on James where it had all stemmed from.

He lived recklessly at times, compelled to ignore consequences. The goblins reminded him of his risky gambling, which had taken a far larger toll than he could ever have anticipated. And, absurdly, Isabella reminded him of Claretta. He had kissed them both without ever thinking of the consequences, and neither of them seemed to care. He was selfish. He was seventeen. It wasn't all that unusual, but it bothered him. It stifled him.

He was finally an adult—it was what he was celebrating at the Bent-Winged Snitches—and his long-awaited seventeenth birthday had delivered up an epiphany. What James needed, more than anything, was some maturity.

"Thank you guys, you've been awesome. We'll be taking a short break but don't stop dancing—we're going to bring out the Bloodsuckers so grab a drink and keep the party going!" Damian Armando slotted the microphone back into the stand and as the next cover band came out to mild applause and a feeling of rumbling dissent, Lorcan grabbed James' hand.

"C'mon, this is when they're doing the meet and greet."

"Hold your hippogriffs, they're not going anywhere." James turned back to Isabella, embarrassed that he had assumed she would be interested in him. He really was an arse. "Have a nice night, Nott."

"Cheers," she said, nodding vaguely, but she was already pushing her way towards the front of the stage, to get a better position for the second act.

James tugged on the VIP ticket hanging off his lanyard and tugged Lorcan towards the backstage doors, where a line was already beginning to form. As he made his way in that direction, he noticed the patrolling goblin slip out of the concert hall. He stared at him for a moment—certain that—but no. It couldn't be. He shook himself and continued towards the back of the VIP line, where another twenty people already stood, waiting impatiently for the doors to open.

* * *

It was inevitable that they would eventually run into each other, but Victoire did not expect the thrill through her fingers when she saw Teddy's blue hair four paces in front of her. Her veins were soaring, her blood like acid burning through her. Sweat dappled her hairline and cooled against her arms. She was tired in the achy sort of way that only becomes noticeable when one stops dancing. And then she saw her ex-boyfriend, four paces in front of her, a few people's heads in between them, and a thrill went through her body.

She slipped out of her spot in the line and sidled up beside him, grabbing his arm to get his attention. Teddy looked around, that excitable, wild look in his eyes. He was just as sweaty as she was—his shirt stuck to him, his face gleamed in the stage light.

There was no need to exchange greetings. It was as if they had planned to meet this way.

"This was the best welcome home present anyone's ever given me!" she yelled, her face flushed with heat. "They are brilliant."

Teddy's eyes were on her lips, focusing on the words she was forming over the sound of the blearing guitar solo. He nodded enthusiastically. "I'm quite sure Desdemona is high!"

"We'll have to find out!"

"What!"

The cover band playing was so loudly that she was forced to shout into his ear. Her lips grazed the skin at the corner of his jaw and another thrill trembled down her spine. "I said we'll have to find out!"

"OI!" Someone grabbed her roughly by the shoulder and shoved her back. It was a burly looking witch with an earlobe full of piercings, much taller than Victoire and twice as threatening. "You can't cut the line!"

"She's with me," Teddy yelled, grabbing Victoire's arm and pushing her into the tight space in front of him and the large, leather-clad wizard in front of him. The woman looked peeved but settled back into her spot, arms crossed.

Victoire mouthed her thank you and Teddy rolled his eyes, but she was grateful that his hand remained on her arm. She knew she shouldn't be grateful—Teddy was not right for her—but she was still grateful.

The doors opened, and the few people in front of them were allowed to enter, in twos and threes. Victoire and Teddy wouldn't be waiting for long. The next song was a little less verbose, making it easier to communicate.

"Remember that time you, me, Digby and Krishna went to see Terrence and The Toadstools play at the Hog's Head?" Victoire shouted, grinning. "It was right after I graduated."

"Merlin," Teddy laughed, shaking his head wildly. "You were _insane_ that night. They were bloody awful, mind you, but you still climbed the side of the building and snuck into the private room upstairs and you—you bloody pinched—"

"I pinched Terence's knickers," she laughed. Teddy laughed too, the sweat on his skin gleaming. Victoire's side hurt from laughing so hard. She sucked down a breath. "He was in the shower and—and I pinched them."

"I remember Digby saying you were nuts but it was honestly one of my proudest moments," Teddy called, wiping a fake tear theatrically from under his eye.

The woman standing behind them in line gave Victoire a surly look. The smile faded from her face then. She refocused her attention on Teddy, turning so she was now facing him completely. "You're drenched in sweat," she noted, because their bodies were touching more than she anticipated, more than was necessary.

"I'm surprised I haven't fainted actually," he said, his voice hoarse. "I've been here from the first set."

"Of course," she rolled her eyes. Teddy had once camped out to see a band he loved. He took gigs very seriously. She had to fight the rush of affection it sparked. These were all red flags, all danger signs. This was outside of her expectations. "How many hours is that?"

He held up a hand, showing five fingers, then smiled plaintively. They were at the front of the line and her heart was thumping. She turned to assess the rest of the crowd and noticed, with a ground-returning thud, that several security goblins were moving through the mob, their armour catching the coloured light. Her heart rate picked up, but not in a pleasant way. There hadn't been this many goblins outside. They must have called back up. They must have waited until the main act had left the stage. They must have known.

She did not feel very safe.

She watched one of the goblins stop a blonde woman, not so far away, forcing her to turn around so he could inspect her face.

"Goblins," she said, her face draining of its colour. "Goblins are searching the crowd."

Searching for her.

Immediately, Teddy grabbed hold of Victoire's shoulders and bundled her into his sweaty chest, hiding her. Her back was now to the search party, her face pressed into his shirt. His eyes scanned over her head, concerned and adroit. Without glancing down, he took hold of her hair and shoved it down the back of her singlet, as if to hide its length. His hand remained on the top of her skull, hiding her hair as much as possible.

"They've started checking people at the back of the line," he said in a low voice, his eyes drifting over the room. "There's one coming 'round to our left, too."

She could see the goblin out of the periphery of her eye, nine or ten yards away, briefly skirting the room to look over the heads of the crowd. Her heart was in her throat and the sweat she had broken into was now cold and clammy.

"Kiss me," Victoire said.

"W—what?"

She grabbed his t-shirt and drew him down to her. His mouth crashed against hers, too surprised to do anything other than press against her lips. His hand clutched the back of her head more tightly. At the last moment, she opened her eyes and noticed the goblin walking in the other direction. She drew back immediately and grabbed Teddy's arm, pinching it to get rid of the gobsmacked expression on his face. "People tend to look away when couples kiss."

"Good tip," he said. "Let's go."

He grabbed hold of the security door and shoved it open. The band manager standing just within was surprised, jerking the door away from them. He glared at them both as they stumbled into the backstage area. "C'mon, everyone gets a turn, buddy."

"We'll wait in here then," Teddy snapped, leading Victoire further into the foyer. The group that had gone in front of him was still taking photos with the Bent-Winged Snitches. There were a few dressing rooms to their right, a long narrow corridor ahead and, behind them, the scaffolding of the stage.

"This is a no apparition zone," Victoire said, gripping his arm even more tightly still. "The only way in or out is through that front door."

"I'm trying to think," he said through a clenched jaw. His eyes darted about the room, resting last on the beams that held up the stage. He pulled her towards them. Victoire resisted, her panic rising. This was certainly not a way out.

"What are we doing?" she hissed.

"Hiding," he replied, crouching as they both darted beneath the stage. They were in an orchestra pit that had been covered to elongate the platform above. The music was loud but muffled here, the performers directly above them. It felt like being underwater during a storm. Everything was dark. The only source of light was the foyer now obscured by scaffolding. Victoire's breathing had picked up.

"Why are they looking for you?" Teddy asked, taking both her wrists tightly. "You need to tell me."

"I don't know!"

"You do know. When I warned you, you _knew._ "

She was trembling now. "I wrote an article for _The Quibbler_ and I deprecated the goblins and the government."

She couldn't see Teddy's face in the dark, but he released her wrists. His voice was filled with equal measures concern and confusion. "I subscribe to _The Quibbler_ and you weren't in yesterday's edition…unless…the dragons and the traps. Turning dragons into weapons. Anonymous." Teddy was silent—probably processing his stupidity at having not made that link earlier. Victoire only squirmed. "That was anonymous. Why are they searching for _you_ , Victoire?"

"Because I tried to sell the story to _The Prophet_ first! And _Witch Weekly_."

Her hysteria was mounting now. She had not expected this. A part of her had—a part of her sensed the danger in what she was doing. But she had not expected a manhunt. She did not expect to be cornered at a concert. Teddy swore under his breath.

"Are—you— _mental?"_

There was a loud bang. They both held their breath as the sound of leather boots on the ground filled the foyer beyond. The shouts of protests from the band members were met with the red flare of Stunners. Teddy was so taut he was like a wire. Victoire trembled from her tension. She fished her wand out of her hair and a knife out of her boot, clutching them both in her hands, in the dark.

Because she hadn't anticipated something like this, but she had sensed the danger in what she was doing. She had been prepared for a while. She had become the sort of person to carry a concealed weapon, and it felt both wrong and right.

"Spread out," a rough voice said, guttural and low. It set Victoire's teeth on edge. It was unlike any voice she had ever heard. "We have orders. We need the girl alive and we cannot cause a commotion. Check if that corridor leads to another venue hall. Search the whole building," he rasped, his voice dropping low. "She can't have gone far."

There was the scrape of something that sounded like metal along the floor. Then two sets of feet pounded in different directions, opening doors. Another set went down the corridor, so that the footsteps eventually became too distant to hear. A few words were called in a language she did not understand. Her heart was in her throat.

"This is on Gladstone's orders," Teddy breathed into her ear.

They were huddled close, her arm pressed into his chest again, his hand on her back. She could feel every muscle in his torso tense up like he had been turned to stone. Their breathing was shallow, light and quick like a rabbit caught in a fox hole. The music thumped above them, a riot of sound. It was too dark to see Teddy, but she was certain he had also drawn his wand.

The backstage doors opened again and there was the throaty sound of the goblin's language once more. There was only one word that Victoire understood, and it was a name: Romnuk.

Victoire was now the one too stiff to move. She wasn't sure what had happened to Romnuk after the Diagon Alley terrorist attack that had taken place in January. Some hoped that the goblins that had retrieved the victims had killed him and covered it up. Others guessed that he had returned to the Goblin Kingdom to carry out his racketeering there. Victoire had a fair idea where he had been. Setting up traps in mountains abroad, smuggling dragons into the country.

The doors slammed shut in a flurry of heated discourse and Teddy sagged slightly beside her. "What just happened? You learnt Gobbledegook, didn't you?"

"They think they found you outside smoking, but Romnuk is going to check himself. Listen, we need to figure out an escape plan."

"They saw my pass when I entered," she jabbered, her voice shaking. "They must know that we're supposed to be VIP ticketholders. They'll know we're in here."

"They're searching the dressing rooms. We literally have a minute, Vic. You need to calm down."

She thought she was a lion, but she felt like a mouse, hiding in a hole. She knew her article would bring about repercussions, but she had not expected to pay for the truth with her freedom. Or potentially her life. She gripped both of her weapons more tightly. She should never have taken the story to _The Prophet_ in the first place. She should have known better. She was out of sync with the wizarding world after so many months in Romania, and this was not a place she recognised anymore. It was a place that put terror in her veins.

A door slammed beyond the shadows of their orchestra pit—not the bulky backstage doors, but the door of a dressing room. She heard two people consult in a language that made no sense to her, then a pair of feet drifted down the corridor. Another pair was coming closer to their hiding spot, under the stage.

This was no longer a dress rehearsal. This was it.

She could see him, silhouetted against the light at the rim of the stage, his armour gleaming. He would move further into the orchestra pit soon, and then their shadows would become his shadows, and they would be found.

She only had a small window of opportunity as he stood in the light and they crouched in the dark. In a moment, it would be over. She needed to be brave. It was a different sort of bravery than the one she had learnt, the one that was all about feeling the fear and doing it anyway. This time, she had to become numb to the fear. She needed a clear head. She needed to pretend she was in target practice.

She raised her throwing arm and spun her knife, end over end, where it found its mark square in the eyes, lodging itself into his forehead. The goblin slumped forward, hitting the ground with a crash of armour.

Victoire dropped her hand, feeling Teddy go slightly slack beside her. Suddenly, all her nerves were gone.

"Go get his body."

* * *

"What's the hold up?" Lorcan complained as two goblins slipped out of the backstage room and hurried in the opposite direction. He wasn't the only person growing agitated. Seeing the armed goblins exit and enter the foyer had dissuaded many of those waiting in line. A whole group had stormed away, and those waiting behind James and Lorcan were growing restless. "Has there been some sort of security threat? This is ridiculous."

James' eyes were darting after the two goblins that were now heading outside. His heart was in his throat. He recognised them both.

He had met with Romnuk only once. It was the week that he had lost all of his personal winnings. He had gone down to Hogsmeade and met with him in the Hog's Head, in the dingy room upstairs. They had made a deal. He had acted as a loan shark. It was not a face that a young man can forget.

A leering smile, teeth sharpened like knives. A nose missing a small chunk out of the side. Eyes like iron bullets and a tattooed skull—tattoos all around, in symbols he didn't understand, like a crown of ink. And a hammer at his belt, thick and wide, like the kind that could mince meat and break bones.

He was aware that no one in the Order—not even his father—had seen Romnuk the Roughs's face before. He rarely met anyone personally during his shady dealings. He rarely showed his face in public. If he was here, things were bad. If he was here, dressed in the Elite Squad's armour, things were verging on absurd.

"Save our spots," James said, gripping Lorcan's shoulder. "I'll be back in a sec."

It felt like a nightmare. People were still dancing and drinking. The band was still playing. No one seemed to have paid much attention to the goblins filtering through the room. It was like none of them even felt the faintest suspicion. James leaked through the crowd, feeling like liquid gas, slipping through people like an eel through reeds. He was close behind them, but not close enough that they turned. He stopped by the foyer's front door, resting there. Here, the air was cool and clear, not as stuffy as the atmosphere in the concert hall. The goblins were just outside the doors, snapping at each other in Gobbledegook. Then, Romnuk switched abruptly to English, his voice still the same low rasp.

"The Weasley girl must still be in the building. Stand guard here until I return."

They exchanged some final words, but James was already pushing his way back into the concert hall. They were looking for Victoire. He joined Lorcan in the line again, trembling. James had always been daring, but he had never been chivalrous. Now was a good time to develop an affinity for selfless and dangerous deeds.

* * *

Teddy cast a Silencing Spell over their vicinity before dragging the goblin further into their dark pit, the armour feeling heavy in his hands. The music was loud enough to disguise their commotion, but he wasn't taking any chances.

The knife between his eyes was short, a mere dagger, and not in very deep. But the goblin was not stirring, and Teddy was close to hyperventilating.

The search party that had gone down the corridor would now be combing the whole building. At least in this hiding spot, they had a little more time to think. But Teddy wasn't sure what he could possibly think up to get them both out of this, especially with a murdered goblin in his hands.

Murdered. He looked down into the goblin's thin face and felt a sudden urge to be sick. But it wasn't murder if you were a soldier. He sharply drew up images of the murdered civilians in Diagon Alley, their decapitated heads mouthing frightening words. Their twitching mouths chanting _"Down with the Wizards! Down with the Wizards!"_

 _That_ had been murder.

This still felt like murder, though.

"Is he dead?" Teddy whispered. He took out his wand and lit it, as dimly as possible, pointing the soft beam towards the dirty ground. They had enough light to make out their own shapes, the shape of the goblin's hard body between them. There was no blood around the wound as Victoire retrieved the dagger, wiping the blade clean on her black singlet and returning it to the sheath in her boot.

"No, just paralysed. It'll wear off in fifteen minutes, so we should wipe his memory while he's under."

"I don't understand," Teddy said thickly, still staring at the clotted wound between his eyes. He placed his wand against his domed-shape head, preparing to wipe his memory. "Why isn't he dead?"

"The knife is goblin silver, enchanted so it cauterises the wound to stop the target from bleeding out. It's also been dipped in Paralysis Potion, which has impregnated the metal. Handlers use these as darts to subdue dragons. It was a gift from Charlie and the others before I left."

Teddy nodded numbly, working carefully on his Memory Charm. Slowly, the fear was squeezing it was out of his body, replaced by a need to keep them both alive. They could hear the sound of several feet pounding down the corridor. The search party was returning.

"Teddy," Victoire hissed sharply. He looked up, blinking away his daze. "We need a plan."

"I don't have a plan," he said, his stomach in his shoes. "Especially not a plan that accounts for an unconscious goblin. This was not something I prepared for."

"Oi," Victoire snapped, shoving him in the chest. "I stab people and you come up with the plans. That's how this works."

They were both dancing around the periphery of panic, but as the backstage door slammed shut again, momentarily spilling in the clamour beyond it, they both fell silent.

The only way out was the same way in. With a crowd this large, a Disillusionment Charm would not get them very far. Teddy could easily change his appearance, but Victoire could not. He gritted his teeth, turning the puzzle over in his mind, staring at the unconscious goblin in front of him. The plan beginning to unfold in his mind was insane. What he would give for an Invisibility Cloak. Instead, he began to hastily remove the goblin's armour.

They had used a Silencing Charm, but he still whispered. "Strip his armour. Don't ask questions."

Victoire nodded and did what he said.

Romnuk spoke in Gobbledegook. " _Did any of you find the girl?_ "

" _We searched the Atrium, the studios, the exhibition space but none of them have been entered."_

Teddy tried to tune them out. He was stripping off his t-shirt and his jeans. Victoire barely glanced at him. She had removed the majority of the uniform.

"Do you trust me?" he asked quietly in the dark.

" _All the dressing rooms were empty as well_."

" _Did you check this entire space? She was most likely here."_

"Vic?"

She stared at him, her eyes wide in the little light from his wand. He still remembered the way her lips crashed into his, desperate but still, bringing back a million moments in a single second. The way her fists clenched against his chest, his hand over the back of her head. A distraction kiss, no more than a diversion.

"I trust you," she said, nodding once.

Teddy didn't wait for further confirmation. He was already putting on the armour as his skin began to change, his bones widened and refracted, his spine shrunk in a painful tremor. Victoire's eyes slowly widened as he turned into the goblin lying between them, identical down to the brown mole on his cheek.

" _You are one short in number_ ," Romnuk grated. Then, when no one responded, he spoke in English. "Where is Rodkin?"

"He stayed back to check under the stage," one of the goblins volunteered. It sounded as if none of them cared very much about Rodkin. He must have been the runt of the litter.

"Rodkin!" Romnuk's hoarse voice grunted. He approached the area where the shadows intersected with the light, where the scaffolding held up the platform like trees supporting a canopy. Teddy could see the glimmer of his hammer against the dark outline of his stocky body, and the beam of wand light flare to life. A small part of him knew that he was not really ready for this.

Still, he grabbed Victoire by the arm and hoisted her through the beams, leaving the goblin he was impersonating unconscious behind him. " _I'm here_ ," he responded in his simple Gobbledegook. When he spoke next in English, he kept the thick, rasping accent in his voice, just as he had practiced. "I have the girl."

* * *

 **A/N: Cliffhangers galore.**

 **Thumbsup was right - Selima is André's big sister. Thumbs up for spotting that little plot bunny ;) The rest of you, thank you for the reviews. Even if I don't get a chance to personally reply, I read them all and appreciate the time you take. You're awesome!**


	4. Chapter Four

**A/N: This is a trigger warning! Quite a bit of torture in this chapter, and although this story is M, I'm still giving you guys a heads up. Scroll by it if ya need to.**

* * *

—CHAPTER FOUR—

Teddy's long fingernails—fingernails that were not his at all—dug into Victoire's arm as he hoisted her through the beams. He took her wand with his free hand. The foyer was crowded with six goblins, all dressed in armour, their visors now drawn up. In front of them, his helmet under his arm, stood Romnuk the Rough.

Teddy would not have recognised him if he had passed him in the street. He had imagined Romnuk taller, scarier. Just as intimidating as his voice. In reality, he was shorter than several of the other goblins present, and thicker too. His oddly domed head was tattooed around the skull with strange symbols. His teeth had been sharpened to a point, so when he smiled, it was the devil's leer. He did not look like anything Teddy had imagined—he looked far worse.

He dragged Victoire towards the goblin gangster, heart galloping in his chest. In English, he asked. "Is this not the girl? _"_

"I am impressed," Romnuk grunted, taking three heavy steps forward to inspect their captive. "You have proven yourself valuable today, Rodkin." Victoire squirmed in Teddy's grip as the thug leaned forward, stretching out his long, dirty fingers to take her chin, turning her head from side to side. She snarled, biting at the air where his hand had been a moment before. He had withdrawn it sharply. " _Down the corridor,"_ Romnuk snarled in his native tongue. Teddy was not fluent enough to catch the rest of the instructions, so he attempted to empty his face of emotion before following the other goblins down the long corridor leading into the main foyer of the building, passing other rooms along the way.

No one would realise that he and Victoire were missing from the concert—no one would realise for hours.

For the first time in what would be a string of doubts since stepping forward, Teddy wondered if this had been a mistake.

The symbol of the Ministry's Elite Squad was engraved in the armour plate on his chest—a wand and a sword, crossed in an X. Teddy stared at it for a moment, blinking rapidly. He had seen the uniform on Selgrut the Sly, plastered across newspapers, beside the Minister for Magic. He had seen it on the Elite Squad that now patrolled Diagon Alley and the Ministry of Magic. He was now wearing it.

The Order didn't think he was ready for this. His personal instructors didn't feel he was ready for this. But he had no choice. Harry would not have a plan to deal with this. Teddy's improvisation was their only chance of escape, and potentially his only chance of finding the goblin's base.

As they approached the front doors, the music now muted inside the concert hall beyond, Victoire elbowed him hard in the stomach, almost winding him. Teddy's grip remained secure, even as he struggled to suck down air.

He had _definitely_ lost his chance at getting back together with Victoire though—that was for certain.

He wondered what they had once seen in each other, what pieces had _clicked_. He was loyal and she was brave. He was dedicated and she was daring. Somehow, over the years, they had lost that. Those integral pieces that allowed them to fit together.

Teddy became loyal to the wrong causes, he became dedicated to his own destruction. And Victoire, slowly, bitterly, but surely, lost her bravery. She lost her nerve.

Maybe it took him working in an ice-cream shop and took her working with dragons to restore some of that former humanity.

Maybe there would never be a restoration.

The goblin standing guard at the door straightened upon their appearance. There was a flicker of something in his eyes as he saw Victoire approach. He raised the visor of his helmet, showing a brow tattooed with blue ink. He took one of the metal security rods that were used to inspect concertgoers on the way in and tapped it with his long, thin wand. The stick glowed, signalling it transformation into a Portkey. Victoire strained against his grasp once more—but to release her now would bring instant repercussions, Killing Curses and dangerous interrogations. They were surrounded, after all.

He had felt the tips of their puzzle pieces join tonight when their live-wire lips met, jolting him with a shock. He felt it before then, even, in the wild glare of her eyes, the way the music made her more alive. After finishing school, after becoming absorbed with life, they had both lost the pieces of themselves that had allowed them to click.

Again, dread poured into Teddy like cold water down his spine. But he stepped forward with the others to grasp hold of the now trembling probe, his other hand still grasping Victoire, entirely unsure what he had gotten themselves in to.

If only he had a way to contact Harry. If only he had a way to get her out of this.

But he wouldn't let Victoire go. He wouldn't let her escape—not again, not for a second time. Teddy knew, deep down, that a restoration was impossible. What they needed was a renaissance.

He gripped her arm more tightly as the probe glowed, and he felt the familiar hook behind his navel.

* * *

James Sirius Potter was the sort of kid who had always hummed with a manic energy. He was never able to keep his hands still. He was always getting himself into some sort of trouble—whether it was picking fights with his siblings or pulling cruel pranks or coming up with a risky way to get his thrills. From a young age, he had always been the one to start the game of truth and dare, and he was the one that would dare someone else to dare _him._ It was mandatory, a compulsion. He invented stupid bets and challenges not because he was stupid, but because he needed the buzz that bravery brings. His mind worked best when adrenalin and fear mingled together.

That exact cocktail was churning through him as he rattled the backstage doors at the Art's Centre Concert Hall.

This was just another dare, just another risky challenge. He had to tell himself that.

"What's going on?"

Isabella Nott was back, persistent as ever. She was that sort of person, the sort that just appears when you'd rather be alone.

"They barred the doors," Lorcan shouted, still trying to push them open. "A bunch of goblins went in and haven't come out."

And they wanted Victoire. And James felt helpless.

He placed his hands over the top of his head, trying hard to block out the sound of the Bloodsucker's metal band blare and the aggravated line of VIP guests behind him. This wasn't Hogwarts anymore. This wasn't breaking school rules and pulling pranks and gambling away his life savings. This was life and its potential end that he was dealing with. This was someone else's life, his _cousin's_ life.

Family had to look out for each other, and that was on him. He wasn't a kid anymore. He had been one of the youngest members of his year, but he was officially seventeen now, and would soon be going into his seventh year. He was an adult, now. But that manic energy had only translated into a newer and pricklier panache, one with nobler motives but just as much nerve.

James never backed down from a challenge, even when he was scared.

Especially not when he was scared.

"Can you help us get in, or not?" he yelled, over-pronouncing the words so Isabella would hear. He expected her to leave, to respond to the _or not_ of his rhetorical question. Instead, she pursed her lips and glared at the magically sealed doors. Looking into her watery pug eyes, James suddenly knew what he had to do to get through this latest dare. It was the same method he had used when he had randomly selected her at the after party to snog. He had to stop _thinking_ and start _acting_.

The line was diminishing, disgruntled VIP members finding people in authority that they could complain to. Lorcan, James and Isabella remained by the doors. Isabella fished around in her pocket and took out her wand, aiming it at the lock and simply saying, " _Alohomora_." The doors clicked open under Lorcan's hands. Both Gryffindors stared at her, dumbstruck, and Isabella frowned back. Even though he was lip-reading, he understood what she was saying by the look she gave them alone. "You're not very bright, are you?"

"Let's go," James called over the sound, and the three of them disappeared into the backstage area beyond, slamming the door shut behind them, locking it by magic.

Now that he was moving, James' head was clear. His wand tapped against his thigh to the sound of the muted music outside. Lorcan and Isabella were gaping at the heap of bodies on the floor, half of them concert-goers and half of them band members. James hardly spared them a look. Nothing fazed him now that he was inside, now that he had made the decision to act on nerve and not on reason.

Romnuk must have already taken off.

"They wanted Victoire and she went into this room ahead of us," James said, his wand still drawn. "We need to figure out where they took her."

"Isn't this the part where we get an adult's help?" Isabella squeaked, her eyes wide as she surveyed the pile of unconscious bodies.

James raised his eyebrows. "Love, this is the part where I do something heroic."

"You forget," Lorcan said cautiously, poking Desdemona d'Eath with his foot, "that you are the family embarrassment, not the hero."

James ignored him, raising his wand instead. " _Homenum Revelio_." A swooping sensation wooshed through the small foyer. Several balls of light hovered over the pile of bodies on the floor, but otherwise, nothing else happened.

"That spell won't work on a goblin," Lorcan said, inching towards the dressing rooms with his wand up. "They might still be here."

Isabella started, turning towards the scaffolding that supported the underside of the stage. She lit her wand with a strong Lumos spell and pointed it into the dark. "I heard something! Under there!"

James followed the beam of her wand and noticed the outline of a body. He ducked into the pit, pointing at the stirring shape on the floor. It appeared to be a goblin, and as he neared the semiconscious figure, he recognised him instantly. Rodkin. A petty criminal, a mere messenger of Romnuk's. His eyes were open, but dazed, his fingers twitching. He moaned once. There was a strangely clotted scar on his forehead.

"I think he's been paralysed," James said cautiously. To be extra safe, he pressed his wand into the goblin's thick skull and Confunded him. His eyes became glazed over. He had to actively halt his brain from ticking over, from making the next big leap. He would panic if he thought about this all too much. Isabella and Lorcan joined him under the stage, an unlikely pair, crouching on his either side.

"He's just in a tunic," Lorcan frowned. "Where's his armour?"

"Who cares?" James snapped, the adrenalin shaking his hands but keeping his head as clear as crystal. The muddled goblin was beginning to twitch his arm and legs. He had to act, _now_ , before the opportunity passed. "Isabella, I need you to go to my house and find whoever's there—my mum, my brother—whoever. Tell them that Victoire's been taken and Teddy's not around either."

"Sh-shouldn't we call the Elite Squad or—"

"They were taken _by_ the Elite Squad," James protested. "You need to go, _now_."

"I don't know where you live—and I can't—I can't Apparate."

"I'll go," Lorcan said, half standing. "I'll Apparate. Nott can stay at the concert."

There had never been so much authority in his voice before, not even when directing a Quidditch play. Isabella glanced between them both, still unnerved. James nodded. It was better if he did this alone. Whether that was to spare Lorcan the danger or to have the glory to himself, he wasn't sure. He didn't pause long enough to consider it.

He looked back at the goblin, who appeared to be regaining full use of his faculties. He jabbed his wand into Rodkin's head, his hand shaking, the spell on the tip of his tongue. He couldn't think, he just had to say it.

Still, he hesitated.

"Where are you going?" Isabella demanded, her voice shaking. She grabbed James' shoulder once more. It was funny the way she kept doing that, like she was trying to pinch a nerve. "Why aren't you going with him?"

"I'm going with Rodkin. I'm going after them."

"James—" Lorcan said, a tremor in his voice. "Are you sure about this?"

"I'm positive," he said, running his tongue over his dry lips. "Get her out of here, mate."

"You can't force me to do anything," Isabella snapped.

"You need to go. Thanks for helping us out," James said, his dark eyes flat, "but now you need to go."

She reeled under Lorcan's hand and whipped her arm away from him, bumping her head on the scaffolding above her. She glared at both young men, her eyes gold in the wand light. "How am I supposed to just _go out there_ and pretend like I'm enjoying myself at a concert after all this?"

James frowned, surprised that this was the reaction he was getting. "You just have to forget about it. Pretend like it doesn't matter. It _shouldn't_ matter to you, anyway, Nott."

She blinked at him twice, still infuriated. Lorcan placed a firm hand on her back and steered her towards the door. This time, she didn't protest. Once it had clicked shut, James was the only conscious person in the room. The only one with any power in his hands.

He pressed his wand hard into Rodkin's temple. " _Imperio_ _."_

The strangest sensation accompanied the Unforgivable Spell. A tingling that ran all the way up his arm, making his hand feel almost weightless. Shaking, he leaned down close to whisper his instructions into Rodkin's ear: "You will take me to the place where Romnuk the Rough hides, where he is keeping prisoners. You will help me find Victoire Weasley. You will do this as secretly as possible. You won't remember any of it afterwards."

He had to wait until whatever paralysis he was under wore off, and he wasn't sure how long that would take. Either way, he had done what he had to do. He had to keep moving forward, now. Whether it was noble or reckless hardly mattered. The manic energy carried him on, making his decisions for him.

* * *

Somewhere, there was a concert happening (as well as a kidnapping), but Scorpius was sitting at home, by his desk, writing a note to his Aunt Daphne on his personalised stationary while Tasper, the Malfoy's older house-elf, turned down his bed. The Puffapod sitting on his desk, neatly planted in a pale green ceramic pot, had lost some of its colour over the summer. Scorpius rested his quill for a moment to examine it, running through all the advice Professor Longbottom had given him at the end of last year.

"Can Tasper do any services for Master Malfoy?" his house-elf asked politely.

Without turning, Scorpius replied, "Could you bring up some lavender oil from the greenhouse? My Puffapod isn't faring too well."

"Certainly, Master." Tasper bowed once and left the room.

Scorpius had every intention of returning to his letter, when he heard a gentle tap on the window. He retrieved his wand, flicking it to pull the gauze curtains aside. An owl—Rose's owl—pecked at the glass. With a slight smile, he waved his wand to lift that as well.

Volker fluttered into the room, depositing a package on the table. There was no letter attached to it, but he knew whom it was from. He allowed Volker to fly up to his own owl's post, pecking at a few treats, while he pulled away the paper.

Wrapped inside was the mirror that must have belonged to a dead person—the hideous, brassy mirror with the ornate frame and twisted handle. The crack in the glass had been repaired, and stuck to the newly polished glass was a note. Scorpius peeled it off.

 _Beloved_ _boyfriend_ ,

 _Am I interrupting your night? Probably not. You're probably reading or watering a plant or something._

He paused here to smirk before reading on:

 _Traditionally, you admire yourself in a looking-glass, but I inferred you would prefer to admire my face instead. As your good and clever girlfriend, I made this possible._

 _I've put a Protean Charm on the three mirrors so we can all speak to each other. All you need to do is rub your finger over the surface of the glass and say our names. If you speak to both Al and I at once, then mirror should split so you can see us both. You must touch it_ _and_ _say our names, otherwise it won't work._

 _Test it when you get the chance!_

 _Most sincerely,_

 _Your far more intelligent (and humble) girlfriend._

She was clever. He could never have denied that. Albus was smart, he was studious. Rose was clever. Cleverer than most girls he knew, especially when it came to wandwork. The charm she had mastered was at N.E.W.T. level.

He held the pad of his pointer finger over the polished silver of the ugly, hand-me-down mirror, poised to swipe it, but suspended. He stared at his own face in the glass. His pale face, skin almost translucent, looked ghostly in the light. His silvery hair as bleached as bone. His eyes pale and grey, like all the colour had been leeched out of them. He was ice. Visualising Rose's face in place of his, with her flaming red frizz and her vibrant sunburst blue eyes and her muscular, tanned arms dappled with cinnamon freckles, made him feel incredibly washed out.

It was not just Rose, either. It was the whole Potter-Weasley Clan. It was the way they bounced with rivalry and inside jokes. It was the stupid dares they pegged at each other, the pranks they carried out like traditions, the betting that seemed to have no real winners. It was their collective heat and vitality. It was the way Rose and Albus seemed to read each other's minds with only so much as a glance.

He had always been on the outside of that glass, invisible to them. It was like being trapped behind a two-way mirror, where he could see in, but they could not see out. They only saw their own reflections. It reminded him of being eleven, sitting beside Rose in Potions or Herbology or Defence, and having her attention stolen away the moment her cousin took the seat on her other side.

But he was on the inside of the clique now. He was on the other side of the mirror, with them. It felt bizarre, almost as if he had slipped into a different skin.

For all Rose's joking and teasing, he was convinced that her family would be far more accepting of him than his would be of her. He had somewhat insulted Teddy Lupin, and even still, the young man had been fond of him. He had charmed Hugo with nothing more than a game of gobstones. If he wanted to, he could almost slip _too_ easily into their tightly knit brood.

It scared him a bit, the idea of getting too close to them all. The people he used to hero-worship. The kin he was envious of. He was scared of being embraced too warmly, because what would that do to his own family? What would that do to the way he related to them?

What would his father think of all of this?

That ever-present maxim. He shook the thought out of his head. Still, he placed the mirror back down on his desk and returned to the letter he was writing to his Aunt. It was best, perhaps, if he did not dwell too long on Rose or Albus, or the great, big brood they came from.

Tasper's footsteps clipped the corridor outside, and a moment later he had returned to the door. Scorpius carefully placed the brown wrapping-paper over the mirror and turned towards his house-elf. He could rely on Millie for discretion, but not Tasper. Tasper was only loyal to his mother.

"Did you get the lavender oil?" Scorpius asked.

"No, sir," Tasper replied, churning his lips into a straight line. "Sorry, sir. But Miss Nott is askings for you, sir."

"Isabella?" Scorpius replied, turning around in his chair. "What is she doing here? It's rather late."

"I is not sure, sir. She is only askings for Master Scorpius. She says there is some trouble, sir."

"Oh dear," Scorpius murmured, getting to his feet. "Well, bring her up then, please."

Tasper nodded once and left the room. Isabella was supposed to be at The Bent-Winged Snitches tonight. What sort of trouble would have her coming _here_ , of all places? He hesitated, hand hovering over the mirror again. He picked it up and shoved it, along with its letter, under his pillow.

Isabella burst into his room a moment later, the house-elf trailing on her heels. Her black mascara had smudged around her eyes. She was still covered in a gleam of sweat, her hair in a high ponytail, her damp fringe stuck to her forehead. She looked terrified, and a little bit yellow in the face.

"He wanted me to _wait_ ," he spat.

"Sorry. My grandparents have instructed Tasper to not allow guests at night," Scorpius said, dismissing the house-elf nervously with a nod. As soon as they were alone, he drew closer to Isabella, immediately worried. "What's happened? Why are you here?"

"I got mixed up in some stuff. Stupid, _stupid_ of me," she muttered, as she allowed Scorpius to steer her towards the bed. "My house-elf picked me up from the venue but I had him take me here. I couldn't face my parents. They'd know something was wrong. I said I would sleep over at your place."

"What on earth happened? Is the concert already over?"

"I left a bit early. It was bedlam. I mean, no one else _knew_ it was bedlam, they thought the Snitches had bailed for the second act. It took almost an hour for them to come back out. They had been Stunned and I suppose they weren't happy about it once someone had revived them."

Isabella paused, placing a hand over her mouth and swallowing hard. Scorpius hovered fretfully, unsure of what was wrong with her, unsure of what had happened. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around her hunched shoulders. "Sorry," she finally said. "That was my second time Apparating and I still feel like vomiting."

"Please explain what's happened, Belle."

Isabella looked up, her brown eyes watery and her face still ashen. She swallowed hard. "The Elite Squad was at the concert. They were looking for someone and I saw them go into the backstage area. I went up to speak to James Potter and Lorcan Scamander because they were trying to get through the doors."

"And then?"

"I helped them through, bunch of Diricawls really," Isabella muttered, rolling her eyes. She was very agitated. "We get in there and Potter is gabbling all sorts of rubbish about his cousin and then he—there was a goblin there and he—I dunno. I dunno what happened. He made me leave. But I have a bad feeling about it. After that I stayed only for a bit longer, until the Snitches had come back out."

"What happened to Scamander?"

"He went to go warn the Potters right away," Isabella replied, wiping a hand over her face. Scorpius had never seen her so remorseful. She wrung her skirt between her fingers. "I feel guilty. I know that's bloody stupid, but I feel guilty. Maybe if my Dad hadn't framed Potter for all that assassination business he wouldn't be on the run. Maybe there wouldn't be a case for them to make him Undesirable Number One."

"You've always said that what your parents do has nothing to do with you."

"I was _wrong_ then, wasn't I?" she said, her voice thick with panic. "Because I knew it was my Dad's fault and I never said a thing. I knew and I didn't even _care_. And now James Potter is Merlin knows where and his father's missing and—and—"

"Calm down, Belle. Since when did it matter what ridiculous, life-risking behaviour James Potter involved himself in?"

" _I_ saw another thing today, a thing I wasn't supposed to," she babbled on, as if he hadn't spoke. "I helped them without really meaning to. And they all just expected me—they _both_ expected me to leave and pretend like I didn't care!"

Her chest was heaving hard now, the panic bubbling up like an overheated cauldron and somehow transforming into outrage. She ran her hands over her face again, smearing her makeup even more. Scorpius sat beside her on his bed, his face drawn with concern. "Well, you care now, don't you?" he confirmed, quite stern. "And for you, that says something. Maybe you're evolving. But there's no use having a hysterical breakdown when Lorcan Scamander has already told the Potters. I'm sure this is being sorted out as we speak."

It was strange to see Isabella beside herself like this. He was used to her getting worked up over trivialities, not serious issues. Serious issues almost seemed to bounce off her. He placed his hand over hers gently. "Go wash up and I'll find you something to change into. You can take the spare room."

Isabella nodded numbly, slipping off the bed and toeing off her shoes. She looked over her shoulder at the boy she had run to over a hundred times, the boy who had never failed to take her in, in spite of her theatrics. "Can't I just stay in here, then? I don't want to be alone tonight."

Scorpius' mouth twitched but he only responded with a simple nod. Isabella nodded back, just as serious, before she trailed out of Scorpius' room and into the bathroom across the hall.

The moment she was gone, Scorpius retrieved his brassy mirror from under his pillow. Everything Isabella said must have occurred well over an hour ago, but there was a chance he could still contact both Rose and Albus. He swiped his thumb over the mirror and said their names in a low voice. When nothing occurred, he tried again. He tried a third time, and still, it was only his own face staring back, pale and panicked.

And as always, it felt like he was on the other side of the glass. Even during a crisis, he was on the other side of the glass.

He understood now, why Albus had gotten so mad at him about refusing to pick a side. Even Isabella was struggling to keep up the pretence of impartial disinterest.

When the political becomes personal, you have to pick a side.

* * *

They arrived in the middle of a large cellar, dank and brown. The moment their feet hit the ground, a curtain of water rained down over them. Victoire choked and spluttered, tossing wet hair out of her eyes. The air smelled like earth, the walls were made of stone, and Victoire was convinced they were underground.

Teddy did not let go of her.

They stepped out from under the waterfall where the Portkey had been set to land. It struck Victoire as strange, until she realised it must have been a precaution. It was a Thief's Downfall. She glanced at Teddy, but his appearance was still resolutely that of the goblin they had stabbed beneath the stage. It still stunned her that he could do this. How was it that he was so good at keeping secrets?

One of the goblins—a goblin that looked far tougher than Teddy's doppelganger—motioned at Victoire and spat something out in the harsh language that she couldn't understand. She felt Teddy's fingers falter on her arm, loosen slightly. He did not reply. Clearly, his Gobbledegook wasn't as good as he believed it to be.

"Why have you brought me here?" she spat at the goblin that had spoken. "No matter on whose authority you're acting, you have no right to snatch me away in the middle of a concert! I haven't done anything wrong!"

"We'll be the deciders of that," another goblin snarled, his ears as pointed as knives. He had tattoos instead of eyebrows, the blue ink sprawling across his brow. The line of ink raised with his brow as he inspected her. "Once we discover what you know."

"Take her to the holding cells," Romnuk instructed, almost lazily. Victoire noticed that he walked with a slight limp, one of his legs clumping a bit heavier on the stone floor. His trademark hammer swung at his belt. "Interrogate her. Then kill her."

"No," Teddy said, his grip tightening on Victoire's arm again. "We were under instruction not to cause a commotion."

"No one will find her here," Romnuk growled. "What difference will it make?"

It was disturbing that Romnuk the Rough was sent to retrieve Victoire for this interrogation, and not Selgrut the Sly. Perhaps this was an exercise that required roughness.

"This girl," Teddy said, jostling her slightly so that her wet, silver blonde hair whipped across her face. "She will not disappear unnoticed. She is in the human's papers, she is almost a celebrity. If she goes missing, it will cause a commotion. Gladstone does not want a commotion."

"You are rather wordy tonight, Rodkin," The goblin with the tattooed brow growled again, almost as a warning.

"I found her," Teddy spat. What he added was in Gobbledegook, and it sounded like an insult. A few of the other goblins laughed.

"I will not break my deal with Gladstone or Grigarex yet," Romnuk conceded, nodding to Teddy. "What do you suggest?"

Teddy was silent again. He was improvising, which made Victoire nervous. "We could wipe her memories after we interrogate her. That way she won't go squealing to the press."

"Yes—" Romnuk said, blustering slightly. "Well, does anyone _know_ how to perform such a Charm?"

Everyone in the room shuffled uncomfortably. Several goblins raised their eyebrows warily. It occurred to Victoire for the first time that the wand on Romnuk's belt was merely there for show. Before his stalling became palpable, the ink-brow goblin responded. "If you would allow me, sir, I can do it. I believe I know how."

" _Bravat_ ," Romnuk replied, nodding astutely. "Rodkin, Bladbud, take her down to the cell. Tie her up and prepare to interrogate her. I will be down soon."

Bladbud withdrew his wand, poking it into Victoire's back. " _Move_ ," he barked, and with Teddy gripping her arm still, they set off down a tunnel nearby.

The setting had instilled a sense of focus in her now, heated but fixed. They walked down a tunnel and began to move upwards, passing tunnels and cells on either side. Flaming torches lighted the walls, which were bare, without decoration. It felt as if she was making her way through the tunnels of a hive. She didn't struggle, or fight, she only followed Teddy and the other goblin.

The knife was still in her boot. She focused on that too. If they tried to kill her, she would slit their throats.

She was led to a cart the size of a sled and forced inside, the two goblins climbing in after her. It reminded her of the carts in Gringotts, and after a stomach-plunging ride, they reached a block of cells. It was hard to know how many turns left and right she had made before reaching this level. It felt as if they had entered a labyrinth. Their Portkey had transported them into an area set apart for transportation and she imagined it would be difficult to find their way out again.

Bladbud slashed his wand across the cell, opening the stone door. He pushed Teddy and Victoire inside, followed them in and slashed the air with his wand, lighting the single torch attached to the wall. There was nothing else in the room, apart from a stone block in the centre, a coil of thick rope on top. The door shut behind him, becoming indistinguishable from the walls around it.

"Stupid," the goblin spat in English, with no accent. "Moronic. Was this the best plan you had?"

"W-what?" Teddy stuttered. Victoire was just as stunned.

"Are you trying to get yourselves killed?" he took several steps closer to Teddy, not Victoire, and jabbed a pointed finger close to his face. The tattoos over his brows creased. "You. You are important. You are too important to die. _She_ is not important enough to blow our cover for."

He was the goblin who had checked Victoire at the door. His visor had been down at the time, but she could recognise his voice. He had asked for any concealed weapons, and she had lied.

"What are you suggesting?" Teddy replied cautiously.

The goblin held up two thumbs in front of Teddy's face, as if bizarrely giving him a thumbs up, but rather, it appeared as if he was showing off the gold rings around his thumbs. Teddy blinked, completely stunned. Victoire was utterly flummoxed, unsure of what this was supposed to mean. If this was some sort of signal between goblins.

"Speak in English. Your Gobbledegook is broken and Romnuk will notice it. Tie her up and be prepared to follow through with this ridiculous plan."

It was given as a series of instructions. Bladbud whipped his wand over the wall and the slab of stone slid aside. He vanished through it.

For the first time since they were captured, they were both alone. It had been less than fifteen minutes ago that they had ducked under the stage in the Arts Centre, hiding from a group of goblin thugs dressed in Ministry apparel. It felt like days had passed in between. Now, she was in a holding cell in some unknown maze, and Teddy had delivered her there as her captor.

Before he could open his mouth, she had slapped him as hard as she could across the face. It was easy to do, without any reservations, because he did not look like Teddy or sound like Teddy. He was just another short, stout goblin.

"Bloody hell," Teddy gasped, cupping his face. "No, it's okay. I deserved that."

"You—piece—of—dung!" Victoire spat, puncturing each word with a blow. "This—was—your— _plan_?"

"Oi! Gerroff!"

"You told me to _trust_ you!" The blood was pumping its way into her head now, making it hard to see clearly. "Are you in _league_ with the goblins? This whole time, have you been working for them?"

"What! _No_."

"Is that why you joined the Order? To spy on us?"

"You've got it all wrong, Vic!"

"You never really stopped working for the goblin movement, did you? Did you!" When Teddy refused to reply, she prompted him again. "You bloody _transformed into one of them,_ Teddy!"

"You've known I'm a double agent—"

"I thought you were pretending to be a Ministry employee, not a bloody goblin!" she howled, throwing her arms up. "I thought you were just spying on them, not gallivanting around with Romnuk the Rough!"

"This is the first time I've done anything like this!" Teddy cried, looking desperate now. "We had no other choice if we wanted to escape."

"This wasn't an escape—we walked right into their prison."

"We have the upper hand, now. Think about it this way—we've infiltrated their base. This is where they're keeping the Squibs."

Victoire fell silent, her face suddenly flushed. She stared at this unfamiliar goblin in front of her. Skinny and small, he looked unimpressive and mediocre. Exactly the way Teddy would have looked if he _had_ been born a goblin. She was still furious, but her brain was ticking over more quickly now. She withdrew from him and stood on the other side of the room, her arms crossed.

Despite his justification, Teddy looked riddled with guilt. He leaned back against the wall, as if hoping to bleed through it. "I'm so sorry. I didn't think it through."

"They want to interrogate me about the dragons. And wipe my memories."

"I'll volunteer to interrogate you," he said quickly. "I won't actually wipe your memories."

Victoire nodded slowly, her face drawn. Her demeanour had changed drastically. She drew close to him again. "I'm not giving up my sources. I'm not putting them in danger like that."

"I understand," Teddy said. "I would never expect you to."

Again, she was silent, her eyes darting over the walls. "If this _is_ their base, where are we exactly?"

Teddy shrugged, his expression strained. He drew towards her, too, anxious now. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this."

"Stop apologising," Victoire said, holding up a hand. She had changed tact again, eerily focused. "We need to figure out a way to escape and find the Squibs."

"Maybe we should just make a run for it," he suggested, his voice becoming faster. Panicky.

"Who was that goblin speaking to you earlier?" Victoire pushed, remaining calm.

Teddy's expression soured, the black beetle eyes becoming agitated. Words tumbled out of him. "That wasn't a goblin. And we can't trust him. If he's known about this base for a while and hasn't given the Order its location, then we can't trust him."

"So he's in the Order?"

"He's actually a Metamorphmagus. He's the one who trained me as a spy."

"A triple agent?" Victoire said, her eyebrows now at her hairline. She shook her head quickly to dismiss all the new information she was receiving and took a seat on the block of stone, as if submitting to Teddy's plan. She placed her hands behind her back. "Tie me up then."

Teddy hesitated, tucking her wand and his own into a sheath attached to his belt. Victoire shook her head in frustration, as if to ask what the hold up was.

"I don't know what _interrogating_ you will entail," he whispered, backing towards the wall where the invisible door was located. "This might be our only chance to escape."

"Are you _mental_?" Victoire hissed. "If we leave this cell before they Obliviate me, they'll come after us. We'll blow your cover."

Teddy's eyes seemed to be ticking away with desperate plans. "Maybe I can transform into _you_ and stay here. I'll take your punishment while you find a way—"

"Oi," Victoire shouted, her voice muffled by the rock walls. "We came into this together and we're leaving together. We're a team." The goblin's face softened, and the expression looked bizarrely tender, even when she tried to imagine it on Teddy's more familiar features. "Now, tie me up! Make the knot look convincing."

Teddy rounded the block, dropping onto his knees behind her and fumbling with the ropes. She felt them twist around her arms, his hands unsure and gentle.

Knowing now why she was here, and knowing now why Teddy had brought her, a new feeling of boldness was building inside of her belly and spreading to all her limbs. Victoire had faced dragons. She had thrown daggers at goblins. She had played Quidditch matches in terrible storms. She was not afraid of meeting her fate. The only thing sparking fear in her heart was the tremble in Teddy's hands as he tied the rope around her wrists. Neither of them could afford for him to seem afraid.

"Tie it properly, Teddy," she said, her voice full of anger. "You have to be _convincing_ , for Merlin's sake."

Teddy moaned in consent, his fingers fastening the fraying rope more tightly. They could hear the cohesive stomp of footsteps as the other goblins neared the cell. Victoire did not feel any fear, just a solid grit in the bottom of her lungs, making it hard to breathe.

Teddy kneeled silently behind her, tying the knot.

* * *

"So, this is Grimmauld Place," Rose muttered, huddled close to Albus, their shoulders pinned together. "Somehow, I thought it would be…grander."

They were all sitting together in the drawing room—Albus, Hugo, Rose and Lily—while their parents were shut downstairs in the basement kitchen making elusive rescue plans. They had arrived sometime after Lorcan had reached the Potter's to give his message, kicking Ginny and her two youngest children into action. Ginny knew she had to see Harry, and she knew she had to get Ron and Hermione, but there was no way she was leaving their children by themselves at home, unprotected, with the Elite Squad on the loose. After some debate—whether they should all stay at the Burrow or Shell Cottage—it was decided they would just have to come with them. That they would just have to be let into the secret. And so, sometime after eleven-thirty, they had arrived in a huddle in a square outside a block of buildings they had never been to before, and they were all shown a slip of parchment with their father's hand-writing across it, and a simple address.

Lorcan was still downstairs, in the kitchen, speaking with the adults. It felt deeply unfair that the others had been hoarded up in the drawing room.

Lily chewed her nails nervously, her eyes darting over the moth-eaten Black Family tapestry on the wall above Rose and Albus' heads. A few knives were stuck into the wall. Lily hadn't lost her cool yet, unlike Hugo who was visibly trembling from shock. Still, she seemed more tightly wound than their grandparents' old Weasley clock. "Do you reckon he's in the Goblin Kingdom somewhere?" Lily speculated, as if she could find James through sheer force of speculation alone. "Because no one even know where the Goblin Kingdom _is_."

"I dunno," Rose shrugged, wrapping her arms around her knees. "Maybe."

Albus pulled his hands through his messed up hair. He had been chewing so hard on his lip, he had split it. When it came to matters within the Order, they were well in the dark.

The door flung open and for a moment, they all turned and looked up hopefully. A second later, they deflated back into their sears. It was only their cousin Louis, his face ashen and his eyes wide.

"Any news about them?" Hugo asked, halting for a moment, so still he was like a songbird before flight. But Louis was wearing the same expression, and it was obvious that he carried no news.

"Sorry, mate. Mum and Dad just arrived. Dom's downstairs with them." Slowly, Louis joined them in the room, slumping into the old chesterfield lounge. Lily curled up into a ball beside him.

"James must be _mental,"_ Lily whispered, pressing her fist to her lips. "Why on earth would he go after them alone?"

"I think it was the smart thing to do," Hugo replied, bouncing his foot on the floor. "None of us know where they took Victoire, not even our parents. He probably saw it as the only opportunity to find the goblin's hideout. If the trail went cold there'd be no chance to get her back."

"What did Lorcan tell you?" Louis asked, sitting up a little straighter. He looked imploringly at both Potter siblings. No one had paused to consider that it was his older sister who had gone missing—not by choice, not by some sort of heroic gesture, but because she had been kidnapped.

Lily responded, almost in a daze relayed all that they knew. It felt like they had retold the story for the hundredth time. The Elite Squad had arrived at the concert hunting for Victoire; that she and Teddy disappeared around ten-thirty; that James went after them by Confunding a goblin. Lily's brown eyes flickered towards Louis nervously, waiting for a response to this. But Louis didn't have one.

Rose bumped Albus with her shoulder and looked at the door. He gave her an imperceptible nod and stood up, walking towards it. He exited the drawing room and slammed the door behind him. The younger children in the room all looked after him, surprised, then looked to Rose. "I'll go check on him," she said softly, and followed him hastily into the narrow corridor, clicking the door shut quietly behind her.

Albus leaned over the bannisters to see if he could pick up their parent's conversation from the kitchen, but it was no use. Once Rose joined him, he cast a Muffliato Charm over them.

"Romnuk in Elite Squad armour. He's working for the Ministry," Rose said, her brow furrowed. "Which is odd, really. Romnuk loathes the Ministry. What does he have to gain?"

"Think back to January," Albus replied, drumming his fingers lightly along the bannister. "The Diagon Alley Terrorist Attack. Do you remember Romnuk's demands?"

Rose thought. She had to think hard. Her memory was not the best, but she could remember the tarrying, rasping voice come out of the Wireless set, torturing a young boy on air live. "He wanted goblins to get wands."

"The Ministry granted that soon afterwards, didn't they?" Albus said quickly. His green eyes looked so dark in the dusty landing that they were almost black. "He also wanted the goblins to be allowed to operate business out of Hogsmeade, and for the Minister for Magic to stand down and allow Romnuk to take power of Wizarding Britain."

"Those things'll never happen," Rose replied.

"They won't happen unless the Ministry falls, and even the Kobold Könige knew that they couldn't bring down the Ministry on their own. They didn't have the numbers."

"So, what then?" Rose demanded, her voice higher than usual. "They've joined up with the goblin monarchists so they can infiltrate the Ministry?"

Rose fell silent then, because the suggestion did not seem so incredulous now that it was said out loud. It would be what she would do if she were in Romnuk's position. The Goblin Monarchists would infiltrate the Ministry of Magic, and then the Goblin gangs would be close enough to the Minister to eliminate their opposition.

"That's exactly what they've done," she muttered, running her hands over her face.

"It's why James would've gone after them," Albus added. "He would have recognised them."

"The Kobold Könige are rebels," Rose said. In the dark, it was too difficult to read her cousin's expression, but her own thoughts were ticking away like a metronome. If there was one thing she had on her side, it was the ability to think with the slick cunningness of a Slytherin. Or a goblin. "They realised it's easier to overthrow the monarchy if they can perform a military coup."

"Everyone is a rebel these days," Albus countered, clutching at the bannister. Both knew that this discussion, somewhat an epiphany to them, was long established between their parents and the older Order members. They were conscious that they were playing catch-up.

Rose's bare feet felt cool on the dusty floorboards. In the dim lighting, she found Albus' hand and gave it a little squeeze. He squeezed it back, his face pale.

"I don't like being left in the dark," he said, quietly. "They do it to protect us, I know that's why they ban us from attending Order meetings. But James wouldn't be off Merlin knows where if he were in the Order and working under instructions."

"Maybe it wouldn't matter," Rose replied. "Maybe he's not the sort to work under instructions, no matter what."

"I don't like being left in the dark," Albus said again, firmer this time.

"No, neither do I," Rose conceded. "I suppose we'll have to make like James and get involved anyway. After all, everyone is a rebel these days."

* * *

"There is a painless way to do this," Romnuk rasped, resting casually against the rocky surface of the small cell. "There is a painless way, in which you simply tell us what we want to know. And there is a difficult way." He paused here, fingering the handle of his thick hammer almost lovingly. "I personally prefer the difficult way, but I will still give you the choice."

Victoire glared at him. Her hands fastened behind her back, the goblin with the tattooed brow holding a wand against the back of her skull. Teddy in front of her, still posing as Rodkin, his face pale, wand in hand. There were two other goblins, standing as witnesses. The cell was too small to accommodate so many bodies. The air felt foggy.

As the seconds passed in stony silence, her nerve grew harder. She raised her eyebrows mockingly. "Are you going to begin with a question?" she prodded.

Romnuk chuckled, his lungs pushing out air like windpipes. Two of his sharpened teeth had been replaced by silver fillings. "I like your spirit, girl. I look forward to breaking it." He drew near to her, his breath sour. "Who gave you the information about the dragons?"

Victoire refused to speak, her mouth pressed in a surly line. Romnuk chuckled again. "You must favour the difficult way, too," he said, coaxing a knife from his belt. Short, thin, the blade goblin silver. She felt the cool kiss of the knife's edge on her cheek, tapping slowly against the corner of her mouth. "Are you willing to speak, girl?"

"What if I told you that I saw the traps myself."

"Impossible," Romnuk hissed. He gently slid the knife over her neck and across her collarbone, just allowing the silver to caress her skin. She cringed under it, still certain that they would not kill her, but aware they would stop just short. "Tell me who told you."

"No one told me," she spat, her eyes like steel.

The knife slid across her shoulder, the gash opening up her skin like a potato peeler. She gasped, a strangled cry caught in her throat. It stung, but then it was done, the cut smartening as blood seeped down her pale skin. She gritted her teeth and glared at him. "You'll have to do better than that," she said.

Romnuk chuckled again, glancing back at the two guards at the door. They both jostled in their armour, clinking on the spot. He pressed the knife just under the first gash.

"We were not followed in the mountains," Romnuk said, his voice thick with contained fury. "I made certain of that. We were ahead of your schedule. No one saw us trap the dragons So, _who told you_?"

"Maybe we can strike a deal," Victoire grinned. Romnuk snarled, slashing the knife under the first cut, so the two dashes lined up parallel on her skin. Vivid red tally marks of her disobedience. This time, Victoire was prepared. She swallowed back the pain without a sound, and once she was certain her voice would come out clear, she continued her sentence. "I'll tell you something if you tell me something. Where are you keeping the Squibs?"

"The Squibs?" he said, and then leered. He placed the bloody knife under her chin, tilting her head towards his face. The metallic smell of her blood on the blade, mingling with the goblin's sour breath, made her nose wrinkle. "My dear girl, I do not care about the Squibs. I will feed them to the dragons once the Ministry is done with them. They are merely guinea pigs."

"Where are you keeping them?" she repeated.

He dashed the knife over her arm, the third strike, before returning it to his belt. Tears spilled out of her eyes but she kept her teeth clenched. Blood was rushing down her side now. Her eyes stayed on Romnuk. She couldn't bare to look at Rodkin and find Teddy's fear trapped in those unfamiliar, black eyes. She couldn't bear it. She had to focus on Romnuk.

Slowly, he removed the hammer from his belt. It was a thick instrument with a dense, rectangular head, similar to a meat mallet. It did not have an ornamental design. Function over form. It was not beautifully engraved. It was built to cause pain.

"I will wipe your memories so you will never remember what you printed in that article. I will leave the memory of this pain though," he said, his voice drawling slowly as he heaved the hammer from hand to hand. He brought the hammer down, hard, on her right foot. This time, Victoire couldn't help but react. Even through her combat boots, she was certain he had broken her bones. From behind her clenched teeth, she screamed like a wild animal, almost doubling over. She gasped from the pain, physically shaking, the blood pouring twice as fast down her arm from the exertion.

"I won't ever tell you," she said through bitter breaths. She thought of Dragomir in her mind, who was so incredibly kind to her in his gruff, lonely way. He thought of the letters he had shown her, the dictionary between their legs. She could never sell him out. Her uncle too, with his hints about the traps. The rest of the handlers. She could never give their names. "You can break every bone in my body if you want. I can withstand physical pain. But I will never tell you. You can tell Gladstone that he will have to kill his whistle-blowers if he wants them silenced."

Romnuk smiled, his mouth drawn tight over his teeth. He tucked his hammer back into his belt, which was more disturbing than if he had wielded it again. It was odd that he didn't use a wand. He had been so intent on getting hold of one, and yet, Romnuk didn't even appear to be armed with one. The rest of the goblins watched him closely, their own wands beside their swords or daggers, tucked into their belts.

"We will try this one more time," Romnuk said, smiling sinisterly. "Then I will simply have another goblin here wipe your thoughts. Gladstone may live without finding your sources, but if we take your memories, we _will_ be silencing you for good. So, we will try this one more time."

He clicked towards Teddy, who was so startled he almost dropped the wand he still held. The two goblins by the door chortled. Luckily, Rodkin did not seem like the sort of goblin who received a great deal of respect.

"You have been itching to try the Cruciatus, have you not Rodkin?" Romnuk said, smiling in the pretence of benevolence. Teddy stared at him, stunned. "You found her, so you deserve the reward."

The goblins by the door had fallen silent, emanating jealousy. Victoire could feel the goblin behind her, pressing his wand hard into the back of her head. Blood continued to run down her arm from the three fresh gashes, and her foot throbbed from pain.

For the first time since being tied up, she locked eyes with Teddy. She could see the suppressed panic there. She willed him to step forward, to raise his wand and do it. She willed him to follow through. No matter what they put her through, she wouldn't give in. She had a will like iron. She willed him to step forward and curse her. He didn't move.

"Do it," she said, throwing the words at him. "No matter how intense the pain is, I won't give up my sources."

"At least we will have the satisfaction of hearing you scream," Romnuk hissed. He snarled across at Teddy again, this time without the pretence. "What are you waiting for Rodkin?"

Teddy lifted his wand and whispered the Cruciatus Curse. Victoire's screams filled the small chamber.

They went on and on, until she had no voice left.

Romnuk only laughed.

Until the sirens began.

* * *

It was without a doubt the most mental thing James had ever done. He entered the experience with an abstract momentum.

It was such an abrupt shift in environment. Only moments before Apparating, he had been amid the throbbing crowd of a concert, music wrangling the air. Bodies crushed him from all sides, sound vibrated through the walls. Lights blinded him and the air was muggy beneath the ceiling.

Now, he found himself outside of a mountain unlike any he had ever seen. It was a pyramid-shaped, its craggy face carved with a walking trail. The air whistled cool and clean in his ears and the sky was abundant with stars, no city light to blot them out. The space was wide and hushed, the sky hung in its curtain of infinity. He felt very alone.

Rodkin led James towards the mountain. He suspected that his Imperius Curse and Confundus Charm were not the sole reasons the goblin was so addled. He had a thick, clotted wound in the middle of his forehead, and although it was not bleeding, it looked horrid. Whether he was bewitched or not, Rodkin did not appear to have a functioning thought left inside his head. The Imperius Curse seemed to be the only thing keeping his body moving.

They did not head up, towards the mountain trail, but rather headed down, towards a rocky dell closer to the base. When they were close to the stone, where it was wrapped in roots and shrubbery, James noticed Rodkin fumble at his waist. When he didn't appear to find what he needed, he dropped to his hands and knees, dumb and blind, his tunic flapping in the light wind.

James lit his wand with a nervous _Lumos_. The mountain loomed over them like the belly of a dragon. In the beam of light, Rodkin picked up a sharp rock and dashed it across his arm. James cried out in alarm, dropping to his knees beside him. But before he could try to fix the wound, the goblin had smothered his blood against the rocky dell, and the mouth of a tunnel formed in its place.

Goblin blood. Goblin blood was needed to enter through this secret hovel. It made perfect sense.

First, through the tunnel, entering at a crawl and then a crouch. It felt surreal, unearthly. Something out of a different life. Like he was at school, creeping down to Hogsmeade through a secret exit. James cast a Silencing Charm on their feet just as he and Lorcan did whenever they snuck out of the Castle at night to go to the Forbidden Forest.

He walked behind his goblin guide in this manner for quite some time, until he felt his knees crash into something solid and hard. He suppressed the urge to swear. He had encountered a small, wooden cart stacked with metals. Rodkin set about unloading it, horribly noisy, forcing James to intercede with another Silencing Charm. Together, they climbed into the cart. It swept into action immediately, churning along a set of tracks, twisting through a series of tunnels. James' stomach dropped into his pants.

The instructions he had given Rodkin were clear, even if he had been disorientated. He was to take him to the place where Romnuk the Rough hides—it must have been this mountain. Then, he would take him to the place where he was keeping prisoners—he suspected that is where they were journeying now. He was hoping Victoire would be there.

The cart jostled along, pitching forward at a terrifying angle, like he might fall out of it backwards. Eventually, the scaffolding on the walls disappeared. The ground began to level off. He saw a corridor lit with flaming tortures ahead, and noticed guards on either side. Without hesitating, he ducked down into the bottom of the cart, smashing his head against the silver rudder. It throbbed but he didn't make a sound as he rushed by in a blur of colour, the security goblins half asleep at their posts. They were the only ones that they encountered. It was more ominous than propitious.

They travelled like this for some time, for almost ten minutes, until the track began to even out and Rodkin stopped pumping the controls. Slowly, they came to a stop inside a large, circular room, with an empty pedestal in the centre. A damp, earthy smell hugged the air. The mouths of several caves gaped open around the circumference, hungry and wide, dark within. James clambered out of the cart. He inched towards the first cave, but when he drew near, he felt an invisible force pushing him back. It was almost as if a glass barrier separated him from the dark cavern beyond.

Prison cells.

"Victoire?" he whispered.

There was no immediate response, but he felt something shift in the darkness beyond his touch. "Teddy?" he ventured.

Casting a suspicious look over his shoulder, James lit the tip of his wand and pressed it as close to the cavern as he could. In the sudden light, two pale eyes gleamed, followed by a pallid face. He jerked away in surprise.

It was a child.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he could not hear a word. The barrier separating them must have also prevented sound from penetrating it. He couldn't comprehend what a child was doing here, but the girl looked familiar.

Her face was ghoulishly pale, her shoulders so thin they looked like small bird's wings. Her bare feet were vile, covered in blisters and scabs. His stomach turned over like surf in the sea and he tried to make sense of this. She looked like one of the missing children that had been in the papers. Again, he pressed his hands against the barrier. When nothing occurred, she motioned behind him, to the pedestal in the centre of the room.

There was a depression in the centre of the plinth, smooth and round. James ran his fingers over it before returning to Rodkin in the cart. "We need some sort of key to access these cells, don't we?" he asked. There was no response from Rodkin, who only stared blankly at the opposite wall. James gritted his teeth in frustration. "Take me to where that key is kept."

After a dull pause, Rodkin nodded absently, gripping the rudder once more. James vaulted into the cart and felt the timber shudder as they moved off again. When he looked back, he saw the moon face of the twelve-year-old girl, her eyes as wide as saucers. She sank slowly back into the dark.

They did not pass any guards along their route. This shouldn't have been so easy. It was as if they were in a nightmarish museum of terrors, something new around every corner.

The unknown didn't frighten James as it did other people. It was the known that scared him—the idea of things being set in stone.

Several minutes later, they arrived at an embankment, with a pool of cool, still dark water spreading across to the other side. The steady drip of water echoed throughout the cavern.

James noticed that the centre of the lake was not as deep as the rest—a slim ridge laid just beneath the dark surface, a bridge just beneath the skin of the water. Tracks had been built along it, leading to the door on the other side.

The unknown did not frighten James. It lit him up inside.

"Go," he charged Rodkin, who immediately took hold of the rudder again. The small cart continued forward along the tracks, rippling into the water as it travelled along the ridge.

Something in his periphery caught James' eye. A subtle shift in the ripples. Something breaking the black mirror surface.

It looked like a log, nothing more than driftwood, floating along beside them. But there was no current to carry it. As James leaned in more closely, he noticed that it was a Dugbog, guarding this strange mote. It did not try to attack them, but merely swam beside their cart until they reached the other side. It was a rather meagre form of defence, but James didn't trouble himself with that.

On the stone opposite him were carved these words—

 _You may praise your good fortune and curse all you hate,_

 _Yet I rule all your chaos and play with your fate._

 _By some I'm avoided by others I'm game,_

 _Called by fat or slim, my meaning's the same._

James clambered out of the cart and stood on the slim ledge. The water lapped gently behind him, licking the stone. He squinted at the words, his whole body slowing down as his mind kicked back into gear. It made him panic. He had only gotten so far because he hadn't paused to think.

"Calm down," he muttered to himself, drumming his hands on his thighs. He had a feeling there was no margin for error. That getting the answer wrong would mean certain death. "You need to think. You need to think. Alright." He paused, crossing his arms over his chest. Word play had never been his speciality.

"I rule all your chaos and play with your fate…" Providence, possibly. Providence sounded right. But James wasn't entirely sure he believed in providence, and he wasn't sure Romnuk did either. "By some I'm avoided by others I'm game," he muttered, skimming that line. Providence was set in stone, unavoidable. Immoveable. The thought made him shudder. He focused on the final line. "Called by fat or slim, my meaning's the same," he finished. The words fat or slim threw him. He would have guessed destiny but the last line ruled it out.

And then it clicked, like a bulb over his head. He felt himself stand up straighter. "Chance," he said, his voice echoing through the cavern. Fat chance and slim chance meant the same thing. Chance was something he believed in. Playing with luck was something he believed in.

The walls rumbled, and the slab of stone before him began to shimmer before parting. The perfect split in the stone led to a room beyond, and James hurried through.

The riddle on the wall seemed to prove something to James. He rushed into the room beyond, a space that was far more polished than the other areas he had ventured into. A desk, made of dark metal, took up the centre of the room. Several cabinets lined the walls. A sword was propped over the wall and a map, marked with a location. James took a few steps forward, examining it closely. But something caught his eye, a moment later, and arrested his attention once more.

James didn't believe in providence. He did believe in luck. He did believe that chance ruled his chaos; that it was his duty to flirt with luck by taking a gamble. And he felt as if this gamble had probably paid off. On a plinth, identical to the one he had seen in the prisoner's cell, was a beautiful, silvery piece of Specularite. It fit perfectly with the depression beneath it. It's dark, glittering surface splashed back the light in sheening ripples. It was almost trance-like. James slipped his fingers over it, convinced that this was the key to the prisoner's cells. Slowly, he eased it off the plinth.

As soon as it parted from the pedestal, a horrible wail filled the air.

Sirens.

James spun around, darting for the exit even as the stone walls began to slide shut. He shimmied through them onto the ledge beyond. If guards hadn't been stationed around them initially, they would arrive at any second.

Rodkin was still waiting in the cart, oblivious to the awful alarm. James shoved the gemstone into his pocket and flailed at Rodkin. "Start it up!" he yelled as he sprinted to the ridge.

But, just as he was metres from the cart, something monstrous flickered through the water. James skidded to a halt just in time as an enormous tail whipped out of the foaming surface and smacked into the cart, halving it clean in two.

"Rodkin!" James roared, but he had disappeared into the water. Pieces of the cart floated like splinters. Without thinking, James leapt forward onto the ridge, the water lapping around his shins. On either side, the basin dropped steeply into a deep pool. Something flickered near the surface of the water again—the enormous tail, swiftly slicing the surface like an eel. James sprinted, searching for the goblin that had disappeared under the water's skin. Just as he had reached the middle of the ridge, he felt something snap onto his ankle.

Pain darted up his leg with a shock. Despite his scream, he knew he was safe—it was the Dugbog, and it was merely a deterrent. He aimed a curse to force it to unlatch, but noticed, to his dismay, the larger of the creatures stirring in the water again.

Rearing upwards with a splash was a Selma, as formidable as a wingless dragon, teeth bared like several rows of knives. Rodkin hung from her mouth, limp and lifeless, but the small dragon did not satisfy the beast. The Selma's large black eye fixed onto James.

For a second, boy and beast froze. Looking down that eye was like looking into the universe.

Then, the Selma reared up further, snapping Rodkin in her jaws so his torso fell clean into the water. The second before he had hit the lake, she was already diving straight at James, jaws spread wide, her maw bloodied and eager.

He bolted forward as her teeth collided with the ridge behind him. He felt its foundations shake. With a clever twist of his wand, he aimed a Conjunctivitis Curse at the Selma's eyes. It screeched in pain. His feet continued to pound the ankle deep water. He was almost at the other side. Hearing the splash, or perhaps sensing the vibration, she charged her head back into the ridge. She missed him again, but this time, James felt the crest rumble and crack. It gave way beneath his feet, and he found himself in the water up to the chin.

It was like ice to his heart, stealing the pain from his ankle. He forced himself to beat against it. He was only a few metres from the embankment on the other side. Something snapped at his ankles again, sharp and quick. The Dugbog had loyally returned. Choking on water, floundering in his clothes, James flung his wand out beneath him and propelled himself towards the safety of the rocky shore.

Slippery and wet, he heaved himself onto it. As soon as he caught his breath, he turned and pointed his wand into the water. " _Accio Rodkin!_ "

The goblin's body, mangled and disturbingly halved, raced out of the water and flew into James' arms, knocking him back off his feet. The goblin's bloodied torso collided with his own, drenching his arms in red. His face was pallid and white. Rodkin's legs were missing completely. He was definitely dead.

James' whole body shook violently, slowing down again. He needed to move on—there would be guards, surely, arriving at any moment. His luck would simply run out. But he also had to think. He had to think smart.

It was so hard to think, to think, with the sirens screaming.

With trembling hands, James extracted the gemstone from his sopping wet pocket. With a swish of his wand and a clumsily muttered Gemino Curse, he created a perfect copy of the stone, and pushed it into the goblin's hand. He wasn't sure if it would fool the goblins, but perhaps it would distract them.

Then, shuddering with cold and shock, James hauled himself to his feet and stumbled back the way he had come, along the tracks, the sound of the siren wailing in the air.

* * *

Victoire laid panting, crouched over, her head against her knees. Blood continued to pour from her arm, pooling around her feet. Teddy stood, trembling as he watched her, his wand now slack. He had never thought, under any circumstances, that he would use an Unforgivable Curse. To use it on Victoire felt like something inside of him had broken.

"Damn it," Romnuk muttered, glancing at the ceiling. The howling siren echoed through the very walls. Then, in Gobbledegook, " _they have still not shut it off. Tarhook, take two others and check the Squibs. Where are the guards stationed?"_

 _"_ _Almost all of them are with the dragons, as you asked,"_ Bladbud replied from where he stood behind Victoire. Although, Teddy was aware it was in fact Reuben Reid, posing as a goblin. Reid didn't even look at Victoire as she moaned softly against her thighs. Teddy hadn't looked away from her. Everything around him only flittered at his peripheries.

" _Well, two others should go to check on the dragons, too_ ," Romnuk added. " _We cannot afford for another incident like the last. I will not have any more goblins eaten._ "

As the goblins he had given orders to left the room, Romnuk turned back to Victoire, his face set like stone. "We have tortured her for almost twenty minutes. Anything more and she may go insane. I suggest we wipe her memory and move her tomorrow."

"Of course, Sir," Reuben replied.

"I am going to check on our smiths and then my quarters," he added, taking a few steps towards the door. "I expect you, Bladbud, to handle the Memory Charm."

He cast a final, degrading glare at Rodkin before leaving. The moment he was gone, Teddy rushed to Victoire's side, propping her up.

"Are you alright?" he asked, fumbling for his wand. Her face was ash grey, drained of all colour. He used his wand to repair the skin over her gashes, prioritising the bleeding over her broken foot.

"You've really made a mess of things," Reid muttered. "You have made a mess."

"Hey, Vic," Teddy whispered, grabbing hold of her face to steady her. She squinted at him, her eyes dazed. For a terrifying moment, he was convinced that the torture had sent her over the edge. That his curse had triggered madness. Bile rose in his throat and his fingers shook. "Hey—hey, look at me. Are you alright?"

"Dizzy," she said faintly.

"She's lost a lot of blood," Reuben snapped. He paced behind her and slashed the rope Teddy had tied around her arms. "Weasley, do you think you can walk?"

"My foot—" she squeezed her eyes shut.

"There's no way we can move her," Teddy said, worriedly chewing his lip.

"We'll need you to walk enough to get you to a cart. I'm not sure what option we have other than lock her up."

"You must be joking," Teddy snapped, rage pounding his head. "She's not _staying_ here. We're getting out now."

"The most important thing," Reuben said quietly, "is to make sure _you_ escape without Romnuk suspecting anything."

"You're going to _leave Victoire here_?" Teddy demanded, standing now.

"They aren't going to kill her once her memory is altered," Reid spoke quickly, flicking his wand to clean up the puddle of blood on the floor. "You need to trust me, Lupin."

" _Trust you_?" Teddy hissed, threading one arm around Victoire to help her to her feet. She was far taller than him, swaying and leaning into his side. Her weight plus his armour made him feel as solid as stone. "You haven't given me one reason to trust you so far, Reid, so don't expect any big leaps of faith. We need to get her _out_."

"We can't exit the way we came!" Reuben yelled, his voice hoarse. "That cavern was the only area of this mountain that can be entered by Portkey, and it will now be the most heavily guarded point of the base. You need to realise, Lupin, that one girl is worth sacrificing if it means protecting the cause."

Teddy did his best to wrap his arms around Victoire before leading her out of the cell, his teeth gritted. "We'll find another exit."

It was hopeless. They were walking deeper into the labyrinth, nothing to guide them out. Everything looked identical, a beehive structure of walls and cells and pits.

Reuben hurried after them, his feet clinking on the floor. "You need a plan, Teddy."

"My plan is to get her out."

A group of guards scurried up their tunnel, hastily speeding past them, hardly pausing to acknowledge the two goblins moving a prisoner. Teddy didn't feel safe in his disguise. He just felt sick.

"You should have let us capture her and deal with it. You could have blown our cover tonight."

"If I hadn't intervened, they would have _killed_ her!" Victoire's body sagged against his. "So sorry if I'm not as concerned about blowing your cover."

"Dizzy," Victoire muttered, clutching her head. She was dragging her broken foot along the floor. "I need to sit."

"We have to keep moving," Teddy pleaded.

"You don't know where you're going," Reid hissed. "Will you just wait and think!"

A burst of light ricocheted off of Teddy's armour. He was a bell that had been tolled. His entire body vibrated from the impact, but the metal wasn't even so much as dented. Swiftly turning on the spot, he saw someone approaching with a wand aloft.

"Release her now."

For a desperate moment, Teddy was certain that they had been discovered. That all of this had been a terrible mistake. Then, he recognised the overly tall figure at the end of the tunnel.

"James?"

James Potter half lowered his wand, but not enough to be off guard. "Rodkin?"

"Shit," Reuben muttered.

"You—I just watched you die," James spluttered, blinking quickly. "How—what are you doing with her?"

"Trying to escape," Teddy replied. He motioned towards Rueben. "We work for your father. We're in the Order."

As abruptly as it had started, the wailing alarm stopped. Without the background noise, the world seemed to spin to a halt. James was drenched in blood and sopping wet. He didn't look as if he was about to ask questions.

"We should get out the same way I entered," he stated, hurrying up the corridor. "There was some scaffolding—a tunnel that was deep underground with all this metal."

"The mining shaft," Reuben supplied. They all began moving again, dragging Victoire with them, her right foot barely keeping her upright. With the alarm gone, the urge to move quickly had doubled tenfold. Reuben was now in the lead, hastening around bends in the tunnels. "Only goblins can enter."

"Which shouldn't be a problem for us, right?" Teddy persisted in an undertone, trying to adjust his arm around Victoire as they began to move again.

"Wrong," Reuben snapped. "You need pure goblin blood. Goblin DNA will be present in your blood, but your body is still predominantly pumping your human blood around."

"Ted," Victoire said weakly. The tracks for the cart system were now in sight, at the end of the tunnel. They didn't have time to stop.

Just as James caught up to them, Victoire's dazed eyes rolled back into her head. Her knees buckled, unable to support her any longer, and she pitched towards the ground like a ragdoll. James lunged underneath her, grabbing her before she hit the ragged stone floor. "Don't stop," he said, as he hoisted Victoire onto his back. "They were close by when I ran for it. We'll figure out the obstacles as we get there."

The alarm system suddenly began again, blaring down the tunnels like a blast of wind. They straightened up, goblin and human eyes wide with fright. Reuben barked for them to move, and they sprinted towards the carts.

"What did you do to trip the alarm?" he shouted at James.

"I dunno," he panted, Victoire jostling on his back. "Rodkin—the other Rodkin—got me into the mountain but he was eaten by a Selma."

"What?" Teddy spluttered.

"You went into Romnuk's quarters?" Rueben demanded.

"I left Rodkin's body behind. Thought it might act as a decoy while I searched for Vic."

"Children running _amok_ in goblin territory," Reuben rubbed his knuckles into his skull, his ink brow rippling with rage. "How am I to explain this?"

"Er, mutiny?" James offered. They had reached the mining cart. It was far smaller than the one Teddy had ridden in earlier. James hastily deposited Victoire inside before climbing in himself, knees bent under his chin. It was startling how cool he was acting under pressure. The urge to vomit had never hit Teddy so severely, not even before his N.E.W.T.s or after a night drinking with Digby. Reuben pushed Teddy towards the cart. "A goblin's touch is needed to steer it. Follow this track straight down. You shouldn't encounter anyone at this time of night."

"Aren't you coming?" Teddy asked breathlessly, throwing himself into the cramped space.

"Someone needs to clean up your mess," Reuben spat, as vehement as a snake. With that, he took hold of the lever at the end of the cart and pushed it down. In a stomach turning twist, the cart wheezed to a start. It picked up speed instantly, plummeting down several sharp curves before making a steep decline. Rueben had disappeared before they even rounded the first bend.

They took the path straight, just as directed, exists whizzing by on either side. Soon, the walls were blank and the only tunnel that could be taken was the one they were on. It felt as if they were plummeting towards the centre of the earth.

Victoire stirred slightly, her eyelashes fluttering. Teddy's hands shook, fondling her neck for a pulse. It was there, fluttering in her neck, tenacious and weak. Could he really trust Reuben to cover for them? He had been willing to leave Victoire for dead.

"Out," James cried as the cart skidded to a halt. Teddy clambered out after him, into the dark, cramped space. He didn't have time to think of what to do next. James was launching towards a blank wall, running his arms over the stone. A moment later, it split, and a cool gust of air whistled out. James was reeling back for Victoire's body, pulling her over his back. Teddy realised that the blood on his arms and torso must have belonged to the real Rodkin. The thought almost made him wretch.

But James wasn't panicking, so Teddy couldn't either. He followed him into the steep tunnel, shuffling through the tight space. Grime and dirt smeared his face and his armour clanked laboriously. Cool air continued to rush past them, beckoning them out into a world of safety, licking their faces and lapping at their fingers. And then, the tunnel was spitting them out into the world outside, a world beyond the mountain.

Teddy's hands trembled as he took hold of James' arm. "Don't let go of her," he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He stared up at the stars and twisted, embracing the crushing darkness that followed.

* * *

James was not _that_ cool under pressure. He was in shock. He was simply in shock.

They cracked back into existence like a hammer striking a nail, and as Victoire's dead weight settled back onto his back his knees almost buckled. The goblin with him—the goblin that seemed to be Rodkin's double—stumbled into the street-lamp lit square. He raised a shaky hand to James.

"I need you to wait a second," he said, before stumbling forward. Then, he vanished into thin air.

There was no crack. He couldn't have Disapparated. He couldn't have left James here, alone, somewhere muggle and exposed.

James' legs shook as he waited, Victoire's ragged breathing on his shoulder. He looked down and saw the blood on his hands, the blood which had gotten them out. He thought of Rodkin, his hips and legs cleanly cut off, red blood spilling like a waterfall into the inky lake. He hadn't even screamed. Maybe under the Imperius he couldn't feel the pain.

James' breathing quickened. He wasn't moving anymore, and his brain was catching up, flicking through images like a muggle viewfinder. The lumpy red wound in Rodkin's forehead; the tightness of the tunnel as he squeezed into the mountain; the cold water around his ankles and teeth biting into him like knives. The streetlamps around him flickered with their electric yellow glow. A dog barked and the wind tickled the trees. He had only stood out in the square for a minute when the buzz of the street lamps petered out, sucked right from the bulbs, one by one. In the darkness, the smell of the blood on his arms, on Victoire's body, was more noticeable. Tangy and metallic.

Clipped footsteps greeted him from across the square, and then a man stood opposite him. The familiar smell of his father's soap released the images from James' head. He was in trouble, no doubt, but he couldn't help but feel relief. Harry leant down, his voice very quiet. He only said three words. "Twelve Grimmauld Place."

Teddy entered Grimmauld Place and jogged down the hall, his armour clanking. Before he was even at the kitchen, Harry was at the basement door. "Who—"

"Teddy," he whispered, his chest heaving. "Victoire is outside with James."

He had still been too loud. The portrait of Walburga Black screeched to life, a series of profanities pouring out of her shrill mouth. The sound reminded him horribly of the shrieking alarm in the mountain, shuddering through the walls.

Harry hastily moved forward, but Teddy grabbed his arm before he could pass him in the hall. "Victoire knows I can turn into a goblin but James doesn't. And Victoire's been—she's been—tortured," Teddy said, choking on the words. With his wand. Under his spell. "We'll deal with the story later, just get to her first, alright?"

"Go upstairs and hide the armour, then come down to the kitchen as yourself," Harry replied calmly.

Then, he was out the door.

Teddy turned, taking the stairs two at a time. He could hear the sound of muffled voices on the first floor, but continued up, up, up. He didn't stop until he reached the attic, where he shed his armour and transformed back into his usual skin. The room was thick with dust, crowded with straw and old boxes, musty and old and awful. He crouched on the floor for a moment and bit into his fists, muffling the sound coming from his throat.

He had to keep it together, for a little while longer.

But this room felt like the orchestra pit, musky and dark. It felt like the tunnel he had crawled through, the cell where Victoire had been tortured. Where he had tortured her.

If she wasn't alright after this, he would never live with himself. He would rather be dead. He would rather have been the one brought to the brink of insanity.

Because this, this was worse than torture.

* * *

No one seemed to eat at the kitchen table anymore. It was covered in layers of parchment containing maps, diagrams and long lists of names. It was scattered with plans. Ginny and Hermione were sitting at one end of the table, pursuing a map. One of Ginny's legs was tucked underneath her while she perched like a cat. Ron and Bill were standing by the pantry, holding a small, silver medallion. Fleur, Neville and Hannah were setting down cups of tea while rifling through lists. A mood of concern hung in the air, fuelling their activity.

As James entered the room with his father, Victoire now balanced between their arms, he was taken aback by the apparent attentiveness of his family. No one was panicking, as expected. No one was mad. As they shuffled into the room, everyone looked up, suspended in what they were doing. His mother stood from her seat, her face bleached white. "Oh, thank Merlin."

But her relief was short lived as both Bill and Fleur rounded the table. Victoire hung limp between the father and son, her blonde hair and left side drenched in blood. Her skin was as pale as death.

"Mon bébé, ma petite fille," Fleur murmured, brushing back her hair. "What haz happinned?"

"I'm not entirely sure," James replied, eyes as wide as a rabbit's. "She's lost a lot of blood, evidently."

"I'll get started on a Blood-Replenishing Potion," Hannah stated, standing from her spot and crossing the room. Neville stumbled from his chair, following in his wife's wake. "Neville, carry her upstairs."

Neville responded immediately, slipping his hands under her arms. Hannah was already jogging up the stairs. Fleur and Bill hastened after them, intent to be with their daughter. James was left with his parents and his uncle and aunt.

"Take a seat," Harry said, nodding to a chair. His calm was almost terrifying. James fell into the seat, trembling.

"Lorcan accounted for everything he knew," Hermione said gently. "But you need to fill us in on the rest."

"You won't like this," James said, his eyes darting between his Dad and Mum. He had no idea what he looked like. What his parents saw was a boy masquerading as a man, drenched to the bone, blood staining his shirtsleeves and ankles.

"We need to know."

He started his retelling. He expected anger—immediately, in fact, beginning with his admission that he had performed an Imperius Curse. However, none of the adults reacted to this. As he continued onto the events at the mysterious mountain, Teddy entered the room, looking worse for wear, and took a seat near Hermione. Soon, the words came out unchecked, spilling forth as a confession. Finding children in prison cells, breaking into an office only to set off an alarm, having his mindless goblin guide eaten by a Selma while he barely escaped within a hair's breadth. The more he had to tell, the less real it felt. This couldn't have all happened. It was impossible that James had escaped from this alive, but here he was.

When he was done, he had nothing more to say. He sat there, deflated and silent.

Harry leaned forward slowly, the layers of plans and papers scattered between them like a sea. "I am glad you are safe, James. But I don't think I can impress upon you how reckless you were tonight."

"I know," James said, almost blankly, without remorse. "I went after Vic because I knew if all the goblins escaped, there'd be no chance of finding where she was."

"You and Lorcan should have come to us, together," Harry said, the controlled anger unsettling his son.

"I couldn't just _leave_ when I had the chance to rescue her."

"No, James," Ginny said, her voice trembling. "You should have left. That's exactly what you should of done."

He had expected anger, but they should have expected him to flare at it. "I may have been reckless tonight, but I wasn't selfish. I _wasn't_ selfish."

"That's not what matters here, James," Harry berated.

"But it should be what matters," James cried, outraged. "It should be!"

"I think James needs to have his ankles looked at," Hermione said quietly, subtly breaking up the argument. She placed her hands on the table and got to her feet. "I'll take him upstairs."

James got to his feet, wiping hastily at his eyes. He glared at his father, heat bristling off him. "I just did exactly what I thought _you_ would do, Dad."

Hermione ushered James upstairs before anything more could be said. James couldn't understand where his parent's anger was really coming from. He was blind to their worry, to their fear. Worried that James never seemed to worry about consequences, least of all when they put his life at risk. The room was still for a few moments. Teddy stared numbly at the plans and blueprints on the table.

"You were planning a rescue," he said quietly, staring at the sheets of parchment.

Harry rubbed his eyes beneath his spectacles, tension pinching his shoulders. "Could you pick up where James left off?"

"You were planning an escape and Reuben Reid was posing as one of Romnuk's right hand men."

"Teddy," Harry said, sternly now. "Please tell us what happened tonight."

"We were hiding under the stage and Victoire stabbed the goblin that found us," Teddy said, totally numb. "I impersonated him while handing Victoire over to Romnuk. I couldn't think of another way out of the building. When we got to their base, they tortured her for information. They were under instruction from Gladstone to silence her whether she gave up her sources or not."

"So it was about the article," Ron frowned, glancing back at Ginny and Harry. "She published it anonymously."

"She had already peddled it to the _Prophet_ ," Teddy replied.

It suddenly bothered him how willing they were to speak as if he weren't there. As if he was just another piece of parchment on the table, another source of information.

"They almost killed her tonight," Teddy said, his voice suddenly shaking. "Did you think about that while you sat back coming up with escape plans."

The three older Order members turned to look at him, a bit flabbergasted. Teddy's voice shook, as if he was about to cry. "You trust Reuben Reid, but he was going to leave her behind. He had no intention of saving her."

"We were in communication with Reid tonight," Ron explained, holding up the medallion. "We've been worried about Victoire so we stationed him as one of the goblin guards at the concert. To keep an eye on her."

"You can't trust him!" Teddy yelled, his voice cracking. "He was the one who set up that Squib program in the Department of Mysteries. And he was the one who suggested leaving Victoire behind. If I hadn't been there to suggest otherwise, they would have killed her tonight!"

"Reid has been collecting information for us," Harry said calmly. "We've been planning to break into Base Bowfell for a while now, but the only way to disable the Squibs' cells is with a key. We've been working out a way for Reuben to get his hands on it. I can assure you he's on our side."

Teddy fell silent, clenching his hands in his lap. He didn't believe them, and he refused to trust Reid. "You knew this might happen," he said quietly.

"We didn't know," Ginny interrupted.

"But you suspected. You knew it was a possibility. You had Reid undercover. You even had a plan. And then I went along and muddled it up. And James went along and messed it up even worse. And we tied your hands."

"We suspected something might happen ever since you told us Victoire was being tailed," Ron adjusted, speaking gently. "We just didn't expect you to be involved."

"You know about the Base, you even _knew_ where it was located. You knew Gladstone would retaliate by jumping Victoire. But you didn't choose to tell me about any of it."

"Teddy, it was need to know—"

"Well I needed to know!" he exploded, flinging himself out of his chair. The momentum swept the parchment across the table. "I needed to know! _James_ needed to know! Do you think censoring us is going to stop us from getting involved?" he demanded, slamming his hands on the table. "She was in danger—they were going to kill her, whether you had planned for that or not."

"We didn't have concrete plans," Harry replied, matching his yelling. "We made precautions. We can't account for every single move they make!"

"You had a plan to rescue the Squibs, you had Reuben spying on Romnuk and there I was, reading Ministry Memos, thinking I was actually being of some use to you! Where you just trying to occupy me?"

"You gave us valuable information, too, mate," Ron said, almost beseechingly. "We weren't aware of Gladstone's plan to roll out the Euthanasia program."

"But you _were_ aware of those kids' whereabouts. You were planning a raid this whole time and you didn't even tell us!"

"What?" Harry replied, exasperated. "Did you really think we were that clueless? That we were utterly incapable?"

"I didn't think that you saw _us_ as clueless and incapable," Teddy corrected, his anger levelling out now into a slow boil. He kicked over the chair as he rounded the table.

James had admitted to his Unforgivable Curse, but Teddy still hadn't. The Cruciatus Curse hovered over him like the Grim, killing his peace of mind. He was being self-righteous and he knew it. The last few hours had proved that he was not nearly as capable as he believed he was. Stumbling around with improvised plans and dumb luck.

"We shouldn't have kept information from you," Harry agreed, succumbing to his own guilt. "But you don't understand what it's like see all our children out in the field—none of you are _ready_ yet. I know you think you are and feel like you are, but it's not that simple."

"I'm in the Order—all us _children_ are in the Order," he said, throwing the word at them derisively. "Molly would go mental if you went on a raid without her. Victoire has been practicing knife throwing at bloody targets. But you don't even _tell_ us there's a raid coming up. You can't train us just to humour us! We are in the Order. You have to tell us things, you have to give us instructions, otherwise we'll do it anyway and we'll do it dangerously."

He headed towards the door, every fibre in his body throbbing with the shock of the last few hours. He turned to look back at their faces, spinning back guilt in its own proportions. "You shouldn't be hard on James. Reid was useless. It was your son who found an escape route for us."

With that, Teddy pounded up the stairs.

Harry ran a hand over his face and stood to move after his godson. Ron grabbed his arm to keep him put. "Let it go. He needs to digest everything that happened tonight. You can apologise later."

* * *

Hannah Longbottom was still standing by Victoire's bed, kneeling beside her head while she finished working on her small, swollen foot. Teddy hesitated by the door, the dark green paint flaking where his hand rested on it. He didn't dare interrupt. Not until their old school Healer got to her feet did he inch further into the room.

The floorboards squeaked under the tip of his toes, announcing his arrival. Hannah turned and smiled encouragingly. "It's alright. I'm all done here, Teddy."

Teddy inched towards the bed. "How are you feeling?"

Victoire sat up and smiled, the colour flushed in her face. Her bad arm had been properly healed; no trace of the gashes Romnuk had left in her freckled skin. Her broken foot had been reset. Most importantly, she seemed completely sound of mind.

But she was smiling at Teddy, and she really shouldn't have been smiling at Teddy.

"Brilliant, really," she said, her voice still hoarse from all the screaming. "I feel like a complete badass."

This reaction seemed to pitch Teddy over the precipice of the reasonable. His face crumpled, brow creasing and mouth puckering. Victoire hesitated. "Oh, Merlin. Please don't start crying."

Hannah teetered for a moment, caught between acknowledging the awkwardness of this exchange or slipping out of the room unnoticed. Having worked around children for quite some time, she prepared herself for the first option. "I brewed her a Blood-Replenishing Potion, which she's just had to drink now. And her arm and leg weren't very serious injuries." Teddy's brown, watery eyes were still fixed on Victoire, spilling remorse instead of tears. Hannah hesitated and went on bravely, "She probably shouldn't stand for a while, not until the potion has worked its magic. But it looks as if she's had a full recovery. If anything, this all appears to have puffed up her ego."

"Honestly, Teddy, I'm fine," she said, shaking her head gently.

He could tell both women were bemused at his reaction, but the urge to sob—to really sob, the way a child sobs when confronted with a Boggart under their bed—was difficult to suppress. Choking back the gurgling sound building in his throat, Teddy aimed to smooth out his expression.

"Excellent," he said, failing to mask the quail in his voice. "Hannah, would you mind if I have a word with Victorie alone?"

With a mangled sound of consent, Hannah hastily left the room, snapping the door shut behind her. Victoire sat up a little straighter, levelling her shoulders. Dust danced in the air between them.

"I can't," he said quietly, shaking his head. "I can't come to terms with what I did."

"You did what you had to do," she said, her face crinkling into seriousness. "We both did what we had to do."

"No," Teddy said, shaking his head roughly. "I should've found another way."

"I stabbed a goblin," Victoire replied, almost nonchalant. "There was no other way. There was no way out of there."

"NO!" The word exploded from his throat, leaving it raw. He hastily turned away, burying his hands in his face. In his mind, he saw the pool of blood around her feet. He heard her screaming. "No, this was not okay. I never wanted you to get hurt."

"Teddy," Victoire said, trying to be patient, restlessly confined to the bed. "Look, it wasn't _pleasant_ , but I've taken Bludgers to the head. I once fell off a broomstick and broke my ribs. That was far worse as far as pain goes." When this did not appear to console him, she went on rather desperately. "In fact, you stopped me from bleeding out. You stopped them from _killing_ me, so really, I ought be thanking you for saving my life."

"How can you even—" Teddy choked now, tears running down his cheeks. He turned to face her once more, both hands linked tightly around the base of his neck. "I held you under the Cruciatus for close to thirty minutes and you're _thanking_ me? I thought you were going to die! I thought you were going to go insane. I stood there and I just-I just—I tortured you for twenty minutes, Victoire! That's not okay. That's not something we can just gloss over."

Once more, he turned away, hastily wiping the tears from his face. He was too far from her bed, at least several metres away, and now it appeared like he wouldn't be able to look at her. Frustrated, Victoire swung her legs over the side of the old mattress, but then thought better of the sudden movement as a new bout of light-headedness hit her. "You're a nutcase," he said, clutching her head while she regained her sense of equilibrium. "Look at me, please. I can't get up yet."

Teddy turned around slowly, sniffing once before pressing his lips into a thin line. Victoire stared at him incredulously. "You didn't hold me under the Cruciatus," she said, speaking slowly and plainly.

Teddy blinked at her in confusion.

"I wasn't in pain," she expanded. "At least, not because of the Cruciatus. Your curse didn't work on me."

"What do you mean?" Teddy said, baffled. His arms dropped to his sides like anchors. "You were screaming."

"I was faking," she contradicted, raising her eyebrows, "so the goblins wouldn't be suspicious."

"But—but I _cursed_ you. I said the words—I—"

"Er, Teddy, do you not remember anything from Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Victoire asked, suppressing a smile. Bafflingly, she was suppressing a smile. Teddy shook his head, utterly lost. Victoire went on, almost sardonically. "You have to have a deep desire to cause your victim pain. You have to really _mean_ it. The curse you cast didn't take effect."

"You were…you were screaming and I…" Teddy faltered, staring at her in disbelief. "I hurt you."

Victoire shrugged, falling back onto her pillows. The Blood-Replenishing Potion must have been finishing its course, because her cheeks were flushed pink again. Her smile was coy, as if acknowledge some secret joke.

"What?" Teddy demanded, infuriated with that smile.

"You've hurt me before, I have to admit," Victoire said, as if letting him in on the joke. "But it was because you were ignorant or distant or careless. It was an accident. Honestly…when it comes down to it…I don't think you could hurt me even if you tried."

Teddy didn't know what to say to that, but he was saved the effort. Fleur had returned with a hot mug od tea, and she told Teddy that Harry was asking to have a word with him once he was done speaking with James.

Teddy nodded once and slipped out of the room to wait.

* * *

James settled opposite his father in one of the several guest bedrooms of Grimmauld Place. This room, unlike the others James had been into so far, had been cleaned up for human inhabitation. The walls had the same, sickly green wallpaper but the photographs and posters spoke of a more personal touch. The longer he stared the more he was amused. Old posters—retro old—of bikini clad women and motorbikes. Bunting flags with the Gryffindor colours. Faded black and white moving photos tacked onto the walls. It looked like a teenager's room.

"Sirius' room," Harry supplied, smiling warily. His skin looked oily and his eyes hung with bags. Still, his strained smile was not masking any anger, something that James was relieved to see. "You remind me of him a lot."

"I suppose it's fitting I have his middle name," James quipped.

Harry sighed deeply, running a hand through his messy salt and pepper hair. To James, Harry had always seemed invincible. He had appeared to be just as the legends made out—ageless and death defying. Through the eyes of a child, this iconic legend transformed into an imago. It was only in that moment, as his father sunk into the sagging bed, did James appreciate just how old he was.

"I am proud of you," Harry said, sparking a stunned look from his son. "You were stupidly reckless tonight, that's true. But you did what you thought was right. And it sounds like you risked your life several times over to do it."

James hesitated, unsure how to accept this praise. He had never been the child that deserved praised. He was the one who was berated and scolded and punished. Maybe this had something to do with not being a child anymore.

"Honestly, I was acting on impulse. I mean, I faced a Selma without a plan. I was shitting myself."

Harry grinned, in the way he did whenever he toyed with his children. "When I was your age," he began, in the teasing tone that was familiar to them. "I had already faced down a dragon."

James grinned back, the repertoire of his father's childhood retellings soothing his restlessness. Then shook his head to clear his mind. "Those kids in prison. Those were the kids that were reported missing."

"Yes," Harry said grimly, his humour evaporating. "We've been planning to get them out."

"This might help," James said, extracting something from his trouser pocket. He handed over a gem, dark and sparkling, twisted and bubbled like blackened pearls. "I think it's supposed to be a key."

"What?" Harry frowned turning it over.

"I thought Vic would be locked in that prison cave so I went up to Romnuk's office to get the key. And I'm certain that that's it."

"You stole—the _key_ ," Harry demanded, panic now returning to his voice.

"Wait—isn't that a good thing?"

"Romnuk will notice! He will change the security measures, he'll—"

"No, no," James said, shaking his head hastily. "I duplicated it and left the copy behind."

"Goblins can always tell when something is a duplicate," Harry seethed, turning the stone over in his hands.

"I'll bet you ten galleons that Romnuk won't check," James replied uneasily. "He isn't a very careful sort of person. He'll assume Rodkin tried to escape with it and just return it."

Harry stared at James in disbelief, his face having lost all colour. "This changes everything," his said quietly, his face as white as a sheet. "Even if he does return it, the replica will eventually crack and fade…he will notice…this changes our plan, it changes our timeline…" Harry muttered feverishly.

James hesitated, but with his usual impetuousness, plunged ahead. "I have one other piece of information." His father turned to look at him sharply, glasses flashing white in the light. James cleared his throat. "I saw a map of the Goblin Kingdom. It's located in Norway."

"Right," Harry said shortly, staring at his son. "We need to call an Order meeting and you need to be there."

* * *

It was some time in the early morning, around three or four. No one was keeping tabs on the time. It seemed fitting that this night should exist in limbo.

James had had his ankles healed by Hannah. For a while, while Harry spoke with Teddy, he had laid dozing on the sofa of the drawing room, his head resting in Lily's lap. However, Harry had collected James a little while afterwards for a chat and he had not returned. Louis and Dom had also disappeared some time earlier to speak with their older sister and parents, and had not returned either. Hugo was lying across the carpet, awake, but not moving or speaking. Only Albus and Rose had attempted to keep up a conversation, and it was sparse.

Despite their pestering, Neville had refused them the chance to see Victoire, insisting only family were allowed in, ignoring their instance that they were technically her family.

Teddy arrived and took James' vacated space on the sofa, staring at the Potter and Weasley siblings with an absent look in his eye.

"I'm going to be moving in here soon," he said, motioning vaguely to Lily and Albus. In response to this, Lily curled up closer to him on the sofa, like a cat showing affection. "That's been the plan for a little while coming."

"We heard a lot of shouting earlier," Lily said quietly.

"I was angry at your Dad," Teddy said quietly, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and cuddling her small body close to his. "But we had a chat after I spoke to Vic and I think we see eye to eye now."

"How'd you lovers make up?" Albus asked, quirking an eyebrow tiredly.

"We've agreed for a bit more transparency," he said. "And I'll be helping him plan the rescue for those missing kids." Teddy was silent for a while. No one bothered to ask him about it, which both surprised and relieved him. "Where's Lorcan?" he added, to change the topic.

"Asleep in the guest room," Hugo supplied. "He was supposed to be staying overnight with James anyway. Mum is going to take him to Luna's tomorrow and explain everything."

Rose stifled a yawn, allowing her head to fall on Albus' shoulder. Brilliant, blue bloodshot eyes blinked at Teddy tiredly. "For a little while, we all thought you and Vic and James were going to die."

"And I never got to tell you," Albus added dryly, "that you were actually a brilliant roommate."

Teddy smirked, his head falling onto the backrest of the couch. The weight of their stares pinned him down. He felt so much older than them. What he would give to still be a student at Hogwarts. "You know what, kids," he said warily, staring at the frothily sculpted plaster on the ceiling. "Avoid going to concerts. Stay in school."

Eventually, Ginny came up to tell them they would all be going back to the Potters. Hermione had set up security measures around the property, making it impossible to break into. James was staying at Grimmauld Place, as was Teddy, meaning that Rose, Albus, Hugo and Lily would be home alone.

"Not alone," Ginny corrected, tweaking her eyebrows. "Neville will be minding you until I get back."

"Oh, come on Mum," Albus complained. "We don't need a baby sitter."

"Think of him more as a certified guardian," Ginny offered, handing over a pot of floo powder. Lily took it with a mutinous glare.

"Can't we stay here?"

"You all need some rest, and you won't be getting it while you're here."

They knew the real reason why they were being taken back home. The adults required headquarters for their Order business, meaning they would have to vacate.

Perhaps it was the exhaustion pressing down, but they went more quietly than they usually would. It was around five-thirty when they returned back to the Potter's with their certified guardian. Neville told them to return to their various beds, but the four teenagers took up residence on the sofa instead, watching the fireplace for signs of life. Neville, strained and exhausted, retreated to the kitchen where he boiled the kettle with the intention of making tea before promptly falling asleep in the chair.

No one spoke. A veil of fatigue hung like noxious gas in the air. They battled the weight of their eyelids.

It was sometime around seven that James arrived through the fireplace, tight-lipped but jovial. His kin sat up quickly and welcomed him back into their midst.

"I'm not supposed to tell any of you what happened in the Order meeting," he said, raising his hands limply.

"You sat _into_ an Order meeting?" Rose demanded.

"They held an Order meeting at six in the morning?" Albus queried.

"I had to _swear_ I wouldn't talk about it."

"But you _are_ talking about it," Lily complained. "You're talking about it right now."

James walked across the room and collapsed into an armchair, the bravado trembling like the wobbly glass of a wave. He had changed his clothes, now wearing a pair of his father's trousers and an old Weasley jumper with the letter S on it. Unbeknown to the others, he had burned his bloodstained shirt and ripped up jeans, letting the acrid smell of smoke cling to his hair and water his eyes. They were now nothing but ash between the logs of a Grimmauld Place grate.

"They're planning something big," was all he said, tucking his legs underneath him. He twitched around wildly. "Where's Uncle Neville?"

"Snoring in the kitchen," Albus replied.

"Should we wake him?" James said, suddenly urgent.

"Er…no, let him sleep. We're fine for now," Albus said gently.

James' eyes wheeled over the room, an over-tired wildness beating out of his head. His fingers trembled like leaves in a storm. Lily sensed his anxiety and spoke in a gentle voice, a voice that belonged to the before. "Who'd you reckon would get Head Boy and Head Girl this year?"

"I reckon James for Head Boy," Hugo said, picking up her tactic.

"No _way_ ," James crowed.

"Oh, come on. You'll definitely get it."

"I wouldn't put my money on James in a million years," Rose snorted.

"At least Rosie sees sense," James agreed, settling back into his chair. "I've got more detentions on my record than all of us combined."

"Yeah, but they'll give it to you to force you to behave," Lily said knowingly.

"My marks are rotten. I'm hardly even passing my subjects," James chuckled, shaking his head firmly. "I reckon Head Boy won't be a Gryffindor."

"Do you reckon Lorcan stands a chance?" Hugo asked. "I mean, he's Captain of the Quidditch team, pretty good with his marks."

"No, no. It won't be a Gryffindor boy. I can just tell," Rose said.

"Who then? Surely not a Slytherin boy?" Albus intervened.

"What about Head Girl?" Lily persisted.

"I put my money on Roxy," James said confidently.

"Alright," Hugo said, holding up his hands as referee. "I won't take part in the bet. I'll be the bet commissioner. Who wants to put down money?"

They all agreed on their bets and the odds, the atmosphere still oily and slick from concern. James nodded quickly, glancing back towards the kitchen. "Okay, cool. I'm going to go and sleep now," he said, heaving himself back out of his chair. "Don't wake me."

They watched him creep stiffly back to his room. Hugo frowned after him in concern, watching the way he treaded hesitantly, as if he stepped on glass. "He's not coping."

"He can't cope with consequences," Lily said, staring absently at his closed door. "He's all guts and glory."

"I reckon he's still in shock," Rose replied.

Albus heaved himself off his feet and disappeared into the bathroom for a shower. Again everyone lapsed into a silence, dragging the morning out of hiding and dispelling the night's events. Their ominous period of waiting and the resurgence of their family covered in blood and horror stories turned into a longwinded nightmare out of their reach. Lily and Hugo eventually dropped off into sleep, unable to resist the lure of a quiet mind. Rose did not sleep. She did not stir. She stayed as still as a statue.

Albus returned with wet hair and a Weasley jumper. He fell into the seat beside her, drops of shower water still clinging to his neck like pearls. Rose noticed the mirror in his hands, the plastic green handle glowing slightly.

"What's with the glow?" he asked, spinning it in his hand.

Rose glanced over to check that their younger siblings were sleeping before taking it from his hands. "It means someone tried to contact you and you missed it."

"Bloody hell," Albus said, tapping the glass. "Did you think of everything?"

"Mhm," Rose replied absently, striking her finger across the glass and saying, "Scorpius Malfoy."

For a moment, nothing happened, and then the sheen of the mirror flickered and the reflection changed. In its place was their friend's pale portrait, his grey eyes probing and afraid. Rose was confused to read that expression, just as he was confused to find her holding the mirror.

"Rose?" he said, his voice clear through the glass.

"And Albus," Albus added, shoving his head in view of the mirror. "What's up? Rose hasn't added a voicemail option to this thing."

"Oi," Rose said, shoving him lightly.

"I tried to contact you both half a dozen times," Scorpius said, his cheeks flushed. "Are you all safe?"

They both hesitated. "What?" Albus asked.

"Isabella told me about the concert. Is everyone safe?"

"Everyone is fine," Rose said, genuinely surprised by his urgency. "We, er, aren't really allowed to talk to you about it though."

"I'm coming by," Scorpius said firmly, and based on the swooping angle of his backdrop, he was standing and moving now.

"Honestly, you shouldn't," Rose said quickly, her pulse picking up. "We're all exhausted."

"I want a word," he said, his mouth drawn into a thin line. "In person. With both of you. So warn your family."

"Noted," Albus said, saluting Scorpius and poking Lily with his foot. She stirred lightly as the surface of the mirror turned blank. Rose hastily shoved it under a cushion and moved towards the fireplace. "We're about to have a visitor," Albus said. "A human one, so don't freak out."

"Who is it?" Hugo frowned, stirring groggily from his position on the floor.

"It's Malfoy."

Lily sat up quite suddenly, hastily straightening her dress and patting down her hair.

The fireplace flared an excitable green, bright and smoky. A moment later, Scorpius Malfoy was ducking his head from under the mantle.

Rose ran her fingers through her tangled, red hair, trying to straighten out the kinks. She was still dressed in her nightgown, just as her cousins and brother were. They were all in pyjamas.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice forced as he addressed them. "I know this is incredibly rude."

"It's incredibly random," Albus corrected, shockingly casual about the visitor. He reclined into the sofa, hands behind his head.

"I don't mean to intrude," Scorpius added, addressing his friends' younger siblings. Both Lily and Hugo seemed flabbergasted, not sure what to make of the Slytherin boy standing on their carpet. "I honestly intend to say this and then go, but it needs to be said in person. I need to say it in person."

"Go on," Albus said, nodding encouragingly. Rose sucked nervously on her bottom lip.

Scorpius squared his shoulders and drew in a deep breath. "I have had the whole night to think about this—in fact, I haven't stopped thinking about it—and you were right. About the choosing sides. It's incredibly cowardly to refuse to make a stance. My parents were firm about always being the diplomats, that they should side with whoever will protect their interests. But I can't agree with that. So I've chosen your side. The side that is right, regardless of the politics I follow. I've chosen to stand with you and whatever it is your family is doing. I'm not going to just…remain silent anymore."

We try to find ourselves in other people. We look for parts of ourselves in others, and when we find those bits and pieces, we click. It's why a fan obsesses over a celebrity, convinced that the lyrics of that musician's song somehow relate to the admirer's life. It's why the common layman turns to the principled politician or the charismatic leader. We find ourselves in him, and we relate, and we share a vision.

It's why we fall in love. We find pieces of ourselves in other people.

People are narcissistic in that way.

Scorpius had found pieces of himself in Albus and Rose. He was certain they had found pieces in him, too. He couldn't afford not to make that known.

Scorpius stood there awkwardly, feeling the heat in his face. He would need to get back home soon, before anyone noticed that he was missing, but he refused to leave before he had gotten some sort of response.

Both Rose and Albus stared at him, amazed by his little speech. Wondering if the last twelve hours could have possibly gotten any weirder.

"Welcome to the family, then," Albus grinned, looking utterly relieved. "It's nice to have you on board."

Rose smiled, too. It was like the sunrise breaking over the horizon. "What a rebel you are, Malfoy," she teased, the affection bubbling in her tone. "You better head home before our parents get here and try to adopt you."

He also smiled, quick and light, before taking a handful of floo powder from their mantle and stepping back into the fireplace.

"Okay," he said, grinning.

"Okay," they said grinning back.

With a flash of green, he had departed once more, and Rose and Albus had settled back into the sofa. They turned to glare at their younger siblings. "Don't you dare repeat that to anyone," Rose added, pointing a finger at them.

"Of course not," Hugo scoffed, rolling his eyes.

From within the kitchen, Neville Longbottom smiled warily and quietly got back to making their tea.

* * *

 **A/N: This was brutal to write and it feels kina knotty, so please show me some love. I pushed to get this out so I could stick to my two chapters a month goal. Hopefully I didn't leave any loopholes (or typos) :P Please, please review while I watch the Oscars and figure out the next chapter. Danke. x**


	5. Chapter Five

—CHAPTER FIVE—

July tipped into August and a restlessness settled into the air as Hermione Granger took to checking both evenings and mornings for owls delivering her daughter's O.W.L. results. Ron was far more anxious for the Base Bowfell raid that would take place in a matter of days, chewing his nails and stress-eating scrambled eggs and sausages at every hour of the day. For all this excitement, Rose was oblivious.

This uncharacteristic stupor could only be put down to Scorpius Malfoy and the infectious and slightly debasing effect he had on Rose Weasley's mind, which was often preoccupied with thoughts of his cherub lips doing things that were far from angelic.

Nonetheless, at the end of the week—fatalistically, the day before the raid—an owl came sprawling through the sky one early morning to land, right foot extended out, on the Weasley's breakfast table.

"Bloody hell," Hugo gasped, snatching his cereal bowl out of the way. "Oi, Rose. I think it's for you."

"Oh no, oh no, oh no," Hermione groaned, standing up abruptly to clear the table with a swipe of her wand. A half finished plate of scrambled eggs whizzed away from an indignant Ron, only to land with a clatter in the sink. Rose gulped down her watermelon, the sweet taste turning sour in her mouth. She leaned forward to pluck the envelope from the owl's leg.

"You'll be fine, Rosie," Ron said confidently, thwacking her on the back.

The nerves were more akin to anticipation than fear. She inched the envelope open and tipped out her letter while her mother stood by the kitchen counter, hand covering her mouth.

 ** _ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS_**

 _Pass Grades: Outstanding (O)_ _Fail Grades: Poor (P)_

 _Exceeds Expectations (E)_ _Dreadful (D)_

 _Acceptable (A)_ _Troll (T)_

 ** _ROSE WEASLEY HAS ACHIDEVED:_**

 _Ancient Runes: O_

 _Astronomy: A_

 _Care Of Magical Creatures: O_

 _Charms: O_

 _Defence Against The Dark Arts: O_

 _Divination: A_

 _Herbology: E_

 _History of Magic: O_

 _Potions: O_

 _Transfiguration: O_

"Hm," she said, scanning the results with a slight frown on her face. Hermione flocked towards her, a look of nervous despair wrangling her brown eyes. Rose snatched the parchment away from her mother and held it loftily out of reach.

"I didn't fail anything," she said to assuage her fears. But her mother continued to hover.

"That's my girl," Ron grinned, munching on Hugo's toast.

"How many O's?" Hugo asked nonchalantly.

"Seven," Rose said, slightly put out. "I thought I would've scraped an Outstanding in Herbology."

"Seven," Hugo said, raising his eyebrows. "Merlin. Make it harder for me to meet the bar, why don't you?"

"Which subjects are you taking next year?" Hermione asked urgently.

"Defence, Transfirguration, Herbology, Charms, Potions and Ancient Runes," Rose said, listing them all off on her fingers.

"Auror subjects," Ron noted proudly, giving Rose a wink. Then he frowned suddenly. "I'm hoping by then we'll have an Auror program back in the Ministry."

"I'm glad you're keeping Ancient Runes," Hermione added fervently. "You'll never know when it'll come in handy. You won't get as many free periods but it's worthwhile."

Rose was glancing back over the parchment crumpled in her hand. A detached part of her was aware that these marks were all outstanding, that she had not failed a single subject. However, the more vocal aspect of her psyche was irked by the fact she had not achieved perfection. For Rose, an Acceptable was the equivalent of a Dreadful and an Exceeds Expectations was the equivalent of a Poor. This mentality stole some of the joy she should have experienced at reading her scores.

"I mean, I got O's in all of those except for Herbology…so I suppose as long as Uncle Neville accepts Exceeds Expectations for the N.E.W.T. course…"

"You have nothing to worry about, love," Hermione said, exhaling heavily and kissing Rose on top of her head. It looked as if the waiting had done more damage to her than her daughter. Hermione fell back into her seat, relief rolling off her in waves. "You make me so proud to be a mother."

"Cheers," Hugo interceded, raising his glass of orange juice in salute.

Hermione laughed lightly and pursed her lips at her son. "You make me proud too, little one." Suddenly, as if something had occurred to her, Hermione exchanged a meaningful look with Ron before continuing in her light tone. "I suppose this means you can buy your school supplies tomorrow."

"There's no rush," Rose shrugged, shoving the letter back into its envelope. "We have all of August."

"Oh, it'll be better to get it out of the way," Ron said quickly, seeming to catch something Rose had missed. "In fact, we'll organise it so you lot can go buy your books and things tomorrow. Make it a day out."

"But don't you two have stuff to do tomorrow?" Hugo complained to his parents. "Some stupid inaugural E.A.R.W.I.G. meeting?" Rose wasn't listening. She was already up and launching herself through the house to get to the staircase. In a few bounds of her long legs, she was in her annex bedroom, sprawled across the bed belly-down, feet kicking up the air behind her.

She dug out the circular mirror from under her pillow and tapped the glass twice, murmuring "Abus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy." Scorpius responded to his mirror first, his pale face wavering over the glass before snapping into clarity. He almost looked expectant, and without greeting, he asked, "How'd you go?"

"Seven O's. Except I got an E in Herbology," Rose gushed.

"Don't tell me I have to tutor you in that as well," he teased with his droll tone, rolling his eyes. His cherub lips smirked wickedly. "Potions?"

"Outstanding," Rose replied before she rolled her eyes. "I know, I know. I owe that to you, so on and so forth."

Scorpius' smile weakened and his eyes twinkled. Rose took a moment to study his surroundings. "Are you in your room?" she asked, perplexed.

"The greenhouse," Scorpius replied, tilting the mirror slightly to show her the glass ceiling and swaying vines. He brought himself back into the frame. "I'm hiding here until my parent's are occupied in their daily routines."

Rose frowned, suddenly understanding. "You haven't told them you got your results? Why—did you get a Troll in Basic Human Emotion and Communication Skills or something?"

"If that were a subject, we all know I would have dropped it long ago," he replied, smirking once more. "I'm holding off on telling them because showing them my marks will inevitably lead to a 'what subjects are you taking next year' discussion."

Rose paused. "What subjects _are_ you taking next year?"

It was a testament to the foundation of their relationship that he relinquished the information so easily. "Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology, History of Magic, Arithmancy and Muggle Studies."

"You're not taking Defence?" Rose demanded, suddenly annoyed.

Scorpius squirmed. "I don't know, Rose…I just hate it. I'm not suited to skirmishing and hexing and all that jazz."

"Scorpius!" she snapped before remembering she needed to keep her voice down. "Scorpius. You need Defence. Defence will give you life skills."

He groaned and Rose raised her eyebrows expectantly. "You're taking History but not Defence?"

"I have enough Defensive skills! When will I need to know how to fight off Inferni or Dementors?"

"I strongly advise against this," Rose said firmly, as if she were the Head of House handing out his timetable. Scorpius rolled his eyes, but the conversation was interrupted by a crack appearing in the glass, halving it neatly into two. Albus's green eyes and furrowed brows appeared in the bottom corner, before he held the mirror further away to encompass his whole face.

"Hey, sorry. I just got away from my raving family."

"Are they pleased?" Rose asked quickly, before amending the question. "Are _you_ pleased?"

"Well, I failed History but no surprise there," Albus shrugged. "Got Outstandings for Potions, Herbology and Charms, though."

"Well done," Scorpius complimented, evidently gratified for him. "I suppose we all got the marks we needed in the end."

"I'm bloody grateful I get to drop a few subjects," Albus replied. Then, something appeared to have occurred to him. "Oi, Rose. Did your mum and dad insist that we buy our school supplies tomorrow?"

"Yes, actually," Rose frowned, suddenly connecting this as noteworthy. "That's odd, isn't it? We have another three weeks at least."

"If you're both going to be at Diagon Alley tomorrow, I'll arrange to be there too," Scorpius offered.

It was a date, even if a somewhat unusual one.

* * *

A lot had unfolded in the week following the concert. For one, Teddy had finally moved out of the Potter's and into Grimmauld Place. There were several empty bedrooms in Grimmauld place, but due to a poster and a woman, Teddy had cooped himself up in the attic.

It was filthy, but he had gotten Harry's permission to clean it by hand, and he was slowly converting it into a bedroom. The ceiling was stooped, which he didn't mind at all, and he had a single window beaming shafts of shifting light across the dusty floorboards. A single mattress lay on the floor, where he had been sleeping among the boxes of rubbish for the last few nights. There were also a frustrating amount of Hippogriff feathers around that he couldn't really explain.

He had been moving homes so much recently, which had once been something that had bothered him immensely. Now, it almost felt like a necessity.

He had not expected to move into Grimmauld place only to find that Victoire Weasley was to move in the day after him. In fact, he had hoped that the old safe house and headquarters would be enjoyed strictly by himself and his godfather. Nonetheless, he couldn't begrudge them all for moving Victoire in. A series of Undesirable posters featuring her pretty face had swarmed most wizarding habitations in the days following her escape from Base Bowfell, something Teddy felt responsible for, and as a result, she needed to stay in hiding. The posters simply claimed her to have _opposed the Ministry of Magic while abetting Harry Potter._

Teddy had never exactly lived with Victoire before, but they had once spent many nights together in his small Diagon Alley flat. Living with her now—actually living with her, under the same roof—while they were carrying out the charade of being _just friends_ was agonizing. In one sense, he was delighted to have her share dinner with him and Harry, to have her clean up dishes in the clever way she could with the flick of her wand, to watch her pull her hair into a braid before bed or to read while tucked into the drawing room armchair. He liked the soft pad of her bare feet on the floorboards and the way she swung around the staircase's twists like a slingshot.

All of that was quite nice. But it certainly did not help with the charade of being 'just friends', especially when Teddy found himself staring at her like a puppy. Taking a room on the same floor as her would be mental. Hearing the soft sound of her breathing, the gentle murmurs of her sleep would have driven him to madness. So, compelled to stay away, he had planted a mattress in the attic and was working hard to make the space livable.

Teddy sat on his mattress, wiping his hands on his jeans and trying hard to swallow. Tomorrow they would be raiding the mountain, finding the Squibs and getting them out of the country. Then, the plan was to leak the raid in the next edition of _The Quibbler_ , exposing what the Ministry had endorsed. The group specifically chosen for this operation would be assembling that evening in the kitchen to finalise the details.

Victoire had volunteered to go, along with Molly and Fred and Dom.

After the agreement Teddy and Harry had come to, all of them were allowed to participate, as long as Ellie Cattermole cleared them for fieldwork. Despite having pushed for this outcome, it unsettled Teddy. Not because he thought their youngest fighters were incapable, but because he had no desire to return back to that mountain. Teddy was not a fighter.

But Victoire had been the first to volunteer, desperate to get out of the house and out of hiding. For that reason alone he wanted to go with her.

Although they had had several Order meetings that week, and had been training non-stop with Ellie Cattermole, and although they shared three meals a day with Harry sitting between them, Teddy had only been alone with Victoire once since the night of the concert.

It was five days ago, on her first night staying over at Grimmauld place. Teddy had come upstairs to her room with one of her bags. She was sitting on the four-poster bed in a pair of pyjamas—cotton trousers with a four-leaf clover pattern and a mint green singlet top. She had just showered, her damp hair scented like strawberries and apricots. Teddy dawdled in quiet rapture. He had rarely seen Victoire in pyjamas, even when they had been dating, because the nights she had stayed over involved her picking up her clothes off the floor the morning after or borrowing one of his spare shirts for bed. Instead, he was seeing what she would look like if she were just at home, if she were just relaxing in her own skin. This is how she would have looked if they were living together, and although there was nothing erotic about it, it made him flush.

"Thanks," she had said, her smile tight but genuine. One finger hesitated on the page she was reading—a book filled with diagrams of hexes and spells. "Are you sleeping on this level of the house?"

"No—erm, I'm, er, up-up-upstairs," he had blundered, resting his head on the doorframe.

Victoire had winced before shifting her body towards him. "This house gives me the creeps. It would have been nice not to be alone on this floor."

He could see her nipples through the texture of the mint green singlet and he could smell the damp sweetness of her shampoo, so all he knew in that moment was he had to leave— _now—_ because he had tortured himself around Victoire enough of late.

"If you need Harry, he's on the floor above you in Sirius Black's room," Teddy blurted out, then he was withdrawing from the door. But Victoire called after him, and he was forced to linger, keeping his eyes on her feet instead of her face.

"Are you still mad at me?" she asked softly.

He blinked in surprise, taking one last torturous look at her. "I was never mad at you," he said. Then, like a little boy, he pounded up the stairs to his secret hiding place, his mouse hole in the ceiling.

The image of her like that—soft and pyjama-clad—resurfaced at the most benign of moments to assault his sensibilities. When he was passing her the marmalade, or when she would agree with his suggestion at an Order meeting, he would suddenly smell the sharp scent of her strawberry hair and see the round, loose swing of her breasts beneath her shirt. That image could crop up at any moment. The other resurfacing images made him feel far worse. The pool of blood around her feet; the way her body hung like a rag-doll over James' back. Those images were harder to deal with. Those images squeezed the air out of his lungs so it felt as if he was inhaling through a straw.

In the enclosed safety of the attic, he breathed heavily through his teeth, trying to shift his thoughts with little avail. Teddy was not the lewd type, but the circumstances had certainly made him hard and hot to trot. It was as if her very presence in the house had injected a deep ache in him that had been left untapped and untouched for four months. It made the muscles in his thighs and jaw permanently clench, as if he was bottling every sound and sensation inside of his body. That feeling persisted always, even when he was throwing knives at targets or having goblin lessons with Orlick. It had been a long time since he had last had sex, and up until now, he hadn't felt the need to.

But she was here, she was finally _here_ , close by and safe. After having her overseas for so many months, after having her almost bleed to death in his arms, Victoire was finally here. Her electric-shock lips had found his for a second at the concert—just for a second—and that had been enough to spark everything back into life. It was enough to inject that poisonous ache back into his body, where it pulsated cruelly in his lips and hips.

He fumbled with the zipper of his jeans, feeling desperate and lonely and nettled. The attic had forced upon him a smell of dust and sweat, but only the sweet scent of strawberry and apricot singed his nose as he came closer and closer to coming. It was as his shoulders hunched and his calves clenched that the trapdoor behind him banged against the floorboards.

He leapt to his feet, smacking his skull against the slanted ceiling so that stars burst before his eyes, pleasure and pain bludgeoning him like a bat. Then, there was nothing but shame and fury and antagonism. Because no one wants to be caught cock-out with their pants around their thighs. Especially not by their ex-girlfriend.

"I'm sorry," Victoire blurted out, her body halfway through the trapdoor. Teddy's back was still to her, but there was no disguising the situation as he harshly zipped up his trousers. Victoire continued to bluster. "I shouldn't have barged on up here. I suppose I should have knocked. I'm sorry. I just came to show you this."

She slid something across the floor before he had even turned around, and then she was backing down the staircase as quickly as she had come, leaving nothing but staunch silence and shame. Teddy gritted his teeth, muttering a variety of curse words under his breath and wishing mildly that he still smoked. Without entertaining the thought, he crossed the attic and picked up the newspaper she had left on the floor.

 _MINISTRY TIGHTENS SECURITY WITH NEW SAFETY MEASURES_

 _Last week,_ The Quibbler, _the Wizarding World's Alternative Voice for news, produced a controversial, anonymous article accusing the Ministry of Magic of smuggling several dragons illegally into Britain. The sensationalism of the article alarmed many of wizards and witches, both human and non-human alike. The article accused the Ministry and the Goblin Monarchy of collaboration on the creation of a weapon of mass destruction._

 _The Ministry has clarified the issue following this leak in information. Garrett Cresswell, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, made the following statement yesterday afternoon._ " _Goblins and humans have a long tradition of using dragons as a form of security. Trained dragons guard Gringotts' highest security vaults. Currently, the acquisition of dragons is taking place for this reason."_

 _Head of Gringotts and the Goblin's Finance and Operations Director, Taruk, can confirm that this is in fact true. The last dragon to abscond Gringotts was a Ukrainian Ironbelly that Harry Potter infamously used as a means of escape after breaking into a Gringotts' vault. Since, several new training methods are being used on dragons to make them responsive to command as security guards. "The dragons are responsive and intelligent, delegated to keep all magical creatures safe from larger threats in our world," Taruk explained._

 _The Minister for Magic refused to answer questions on the issue, but released a written statement to_ The Prophet _earlier this morning. "The Ministry of Magic has undertaken this security measure in accordance with the regulations of the Beast Division in order to increase security measures in a time of dangerous, xenophobic terrorism. This information was originally kept from the public to ensure that those plotting cruel and malignant attacks among us would not be given a further advantage in their preparations. The person or persons who released this information and sensationalised it erroneously will be held accountable by the Ministry."_

 _Although the Ministry refuses to name its suspects, many have gathered that Victoire Weasley may be responsible for this leak in information. The article's release coincides with the journalists' return from the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary, where she worked as a correspondence writer with her uncle Charles Weasley. Concurrently, the Ministry has labelled the young, part-Veela, witch an Undesirable target. Speculation would suggest that she published the outrageous article in an attempt to warn her infamous uncle, Harry Potter, of the security measures in place to protect the public from his threat. Considering that he has broken into Gringotts once before and escaped upon the back of a dragon, these measures are palpably necessary._

Teddy folded up the news article and flung it into the corner of the room. The Ministry had been prepared with a neat, little counter-attack. Without a doubt, this would assuage the public's fears. People would believe what they wanted to believe. At least once the truth about the Squibs was out, there would be no way to gloss it over and make it easy to swallow. There would be no excuses.

What was more concerning was the very prominent attack on Victoire at the end. Privately, he was glad she had not left the house in a week. She had a target on her head. She had put herself purposely in danger's path and tomorrow she would do it again.

Feeling anger and heat still flushing to his head, Teddy took the stairs down from the attic and descended two floors below. He smacked open the door of Victoire's room, where she was curled up on her bed. Immediately, she sat up, eyes wide and mortified. "I'm sorry," she said, almost instantly. "Please, _please,_ don't be mad at me."

"No," Teddy said, firm and sharp. It was not a tone he had used since he had been Head Boy. Victoire shrunk under it. " _No_ , you do not get out of this with a sorry. Do you know what's happened since you've come back? You've punished me."

"What?" she replied, truly stunned.

"I've thought maybe if I'm distant enough or polite enough or kind enough Victoire and I will be friends again. Maybe we can have a shadow of normalcy, whatever _that_ looks like. And ever since you've gotten back, you've been punishing me by making that seem impossible. _You_ were the one who came and found me at the concert. _You_ kissed me and called it a distraction. _You_ were the one who moved into this house, into the room across from mine—and I thought, alright, let her have what she wants—so I _holed myself up in the attic._ You won't let me be distant and polite; you keep pushing yourself onto me. You're making friendship seem rather hard to swallow. You made me think I had _tortured_ you for Merlin's sake! And maybe you think I'm being irrational but I don't care. _I don't care_. I do not care whether you think I'm blaming you unfairly because this is unfair on me. This is _unfair_. Did you ever think about how selfish you've been?"

"Selfish?" she repeated, flaring at this. Her face was turning a deep red.

"Selfish!" he yelled, his voice hoarse. "You've been selfish ever since I first spoke to you at your welcome home party! _You_ were the one to suggest that we should be friends."

"What's wrong with us being friends?" she demanded.

"I don't want to be _just friends_ with you, Victoire! I don't want to be friends. Maybe I _can't_ be just friends with you, maybe I want to be more than just friends." He stopped, panting hard and feeling wretched for having yelled. Still, it all had to be said. It had to be done. He stood before her, his chest heaving, before he backed towards the door. "I'll see you at the Order meeting tonight. Otherwise, I don't think we should speak anymore."

"Fine," she snapped.

"Fine," he replied. Without a backwards glance, he pounded up the stairs to his secret hiding place, his mouse hole in the ceiling.

* * *

It was the night before the raid and a nervous energy buzzed through the air. To break into Base Bowfell only a week after the last break-in with Teddy, Victoire and James seemed ludicrous. Still, Harry didn't see any other choice. All their careful planning and diversion tactics would fall to pieces if Romnuk recognised the key he had confiscated from Rodkin's body was merely a duplicitous double. Every day they didn't act was a potential liability.

Making plans around the kitchen table with Ron and Hermione on either side brought back sharp memories of their plans to invade the Ministry of Magic in order to find Dolores Umbridge. The memory of that disastrous incident, in which they only survived only thanks to dumb luck and quick wit made him nervous. No matter how hard they tried, their plans never really seemed to go to plan.

Only those who had originally volunteered for this taskforce sat around the wooden kitchen table. Bill and Fleur had volunteered specifically because of their in depth knowledge of the goblin community and their experience as war veterans. Neville, Luna and Seamus, all members of the infamous Dumbledore's Army and excellent under pressure, would keep their cool under fire. Ron had left his post by Hermione, Harry and Ginny's sides to look for snacks in the cupboards. Orlick had just left, having given Harry a pint of his blood. Reuben had yet to arrive.

Twitchy but excited, the youngest members of the team also joined them in the room. Dominique arrived with Fred, both wearing their wands in their belts as if they were preparing to be jumped at any moment. When Molly entered the room a few minutes later, pushing her clear-framed ray-bans up her nose, she looked flushed and mad. This was not unusual for her, so no one asked.

"Everything's gone well with the alibi?" Seamus asked conversationally across the table to fill the lull. Harry looked up and bounced his knee nervously, too distracted to hear what his old friend had asked. Ron hesitated before responding on his behalf.

"Romnuk assumed Rodkin had tripped the alarm as a distraction so Victoire could escape while he tried to break the Squibs out of prison. It was far-fetched," Ron said between a gusty sigh, "but Reuben managed to sell the story convincingly. Told Romnuk that he had had doubts about Rodkin for a while, made it seem like inner mutiny…"

"Do you think security measures have changed?" Neville asked.

"No," Ron replied. "At least, they could've potentially changed around Romnuk's quarters. But based on Reuben's scouting, nothing's changed."

"Harry," a dreamy voice drifted across the room. At the sound of his name, his green eyes snapped to attention. Luna frowned from her seat beside Neville, her fair blonde hair concealing the grey strands beginning to appear at the roots. "While we wait for the others, could we have a word?"

"Sure Luna."

Harry bounced to his feet. If it weren't for Lorcan's direct involvement at the concert and what he had witnessed, he had a feeling Luna wouldn't be here. All eyes were on them as they ducked out into the hall, tiptoed by the curtained portrait of Walburga Black and entered the formal dining room. Luna hesitated by one of the chairs, her thin hands clutching the back of it.

"I feel like you might be angry at me," she said, her eyes protruding as always.

Harry blanched. "I'm not angry."

"But I feel like you might be because I didn't believe you right away," she said gently, her eyes still fixed to his. Harry didn't know what to say. Luna always had an uncanny ability to speak the truth even when it was uncomfortable. She went on, unfazed, "I never thought you were guilty of assassinating anyone. I just found it all very hard to believe."

" _You_ found it hard to believe?" Harry replied, cocking an eyebrow. Hard to believe did not seem to cover it. Regardless of her eccentricities, conspiracies and her political standpoint, Harry had never expected Luna to forsake her loyalty in order to stand by Gladstone. He had never expected Luna to concoct batty scenarios that would excuse Gladstone's behaviour. He had never expected Luna to abandon them; especially after all they had been through. In fear of uttering anything else sarcastic, Harry stayed silent.

"See, I knew you were angry." Luna sighed, running her hands over her knotted hair. In the shadows of the room, it looked like cobwebs. She was very pale. "Remember when we fought the Death Eaters at the Department of Mysteries?" Luna asked, as if it had been something they had done last week. Harry remembered it clearly. That day had done irreparable damage to him. It was a day that carried the sort of regret that a lifetime wouldn't erase. Luna went on, her voice sounding further and further away. "Not long after that we fought them at Hogwarts, too. Then I was kidnapped and lived with a goblin and a wand-maker for a long time in the Mafloy's dungeon. Then you rescued us and we fought at Hogwarts again, but this time a lot of our friends died. That all happened to me while I was still a child. I wasn't even seventeen yet."

Here, Luna fell silent, frowning at the cabinet of silver crockery featuring the Black Family stamp. She slowly relinquished her grip on the chair. "For a long time, I thought Gladstone would be guaranteeing us peace, not another war. I think I just found it hard to believe."

Harry stared at Luna for a long time, an awful feeling settling into the pit of his stomach. She stared back, unflinching.

"Do you still have nightmares?" Luna asked, her voice clear. She must have noticed Harry's palpable surprise because she went on in an even tone. "I ask because I do. And I know Ginny does too because we've talked about it before. I'm sure yours would be different to mine, but I have nightmares about the Carrows making us practice the Cruciatus Curse on each other. And nightmares where Snape is drugging me at breakfast and carrying me off a train. Do you still have nightmares like that?"

"Yes," Harry said. It was any wonder the word could escape his throat considering how dry and tight it had become. He swallowed very hard. "These days they're about my children."

Luna nodded slowly, a sadness creasing the corners of her lips. "I'm sorry that I didn't believe you for so long. I still find it hard to believe."

"It's okay," Harry said, and with the admission he released all his anger. He and Luna had been through more than most people should ever experience... They were about to go through it all again.

"I'm sorry I allowed Victoire to print that article, too. I know it got her into trouble."

"That's not your fault. She was determined to get it out there." Here, Harry chuckled dryly to split the tension, joining Luna by the door. "I suppose all our kids like to meddle where they can."

Luna laughed, a little too shrilly and loudly, the way she always did. With a merry little nod, she wrinkled her nose. "Well, serves us right. We used to do the exact same thing when we were their age."

She patted Harry's shoulder, allowing that last truthful remark to smart, before they both returned to the basement kitchen. When they arrived, Reuben, Teddy and Victoire had already joined the assembled team.

"Excellent," Harry said, slapping his hands together. "Let's go over the plan for tomorrow—Yes, Molly."

Molly's hand had flown into the air the moment Harry had opened his mouth, her black fingernails wiggling above her head. Once called upon, she lowered her hand. "Why aren't there any ex-Aurors coming on this raid except for you two," she asked, gesturing at her two uncles.

"Aren't we good enough for ya, love?" Seamus asked in his grizzly, charming way.

"I'm an ex-Auror, too," Neville frowned.

"You're our old Herbology teacher," Fred corrected.

Hermione raised her hand to stifle the conversation. Everyone turned to her instead. "We want all the recently fired Aurors to be seen in public tomorrow," Hermione explained, pressing her fingers together. "We believe the Elite Squad is monitoring their movements. If they all went missing at once, it would be suspicious."

Molly followed up with another question, but Harry had been distracted by the look of his eldest niece and his surly godson who were looking anywhere other than at each other. Teddy was glaring at the ceiling while Victoire was staring at her mother's handbag. They had been friendly all week, and the sudden mood shift perplexed Harry.

Having _both_ Victoire and Teddy move in had been the excitement of Harry's week. Not only did he have company now, he also had the opportunity to play matchmaker. While living under the same roof, he was convinced they would put aside their foolishness and get back together. Things seemed to have been progressing well. Friendly meals, lengthy talks about Base Bowfell as the two drew up maps and plans. And now… that frostiness again.

"Harry? Harry!"

Harry jumped, startled out of his stupor.

"Yes?"

Hermione was staring at him with her large, brown eyes. He nodded and pretended to be listening. "Thanks for explaining that, Hermione."

"I asked you to tell everyone where they will be stationed tomorrow," she replied, raising her eyebrows.

"Right," Harry nodded, clearing his throat. Ron was trying not to laugh. "So, there are four Squibs that need to be rescued. Let's assume that they have gone through significant trauma—don't expect them to follow orders easily. We'll have two teams inside the mountain. Teddy, Victoire, myself, Ron and Seamus will be the ones to enter the mountain through the mine shaft and release the Squibs from their prison."

"The A-Team," Ron said, taking a bite of his liquorice wand. Ginny squinted at him suspiciously.

"Meanwhile, Bill, Neville and Fleur will be down the other end, at the mouth of the shaft. We will send a child and one Order member down the shaft in carts. Those on the other end must then get them out.

"Once they are outside, it's up to Molly, Fred, Luna and Ginny to Apparate with them. Half of you will go to Shell Cottage, where Dom will be waiting. The other two will go to The Burrow, where Mr and Mrs Weasley will be waiting. From here, we transport them to Fleur's parent's house in France."

"I won't even _be_ at the mountain?" Dominique complained, no doubt thinking about all the knife throwing she had been practicing.

In reality, after what Bill and Fleur had been through over the last week, Harry couldn't bear to put both his daughters in a situation where their lives were directly at stake. Dom had barely been cleared to fight by Cattermole. Victoire knew the mountain well, which was why she was involved at all.

"Every part of this plan is important," Harry replied diplomatically. "We can't use Polyjuice Potion. We can't transport these children in any way that the Ministry can detect. Every single person is integral to this. It's a chain and for it to work we have to be stealthy."

"I will be sent in as a decoy," Reuben added, raising his hand lazily so his gold rings glimmered. "I will pull most of the guards down to the dragons' level. There have been so many issues training the dragons lately that it won't be a problem to create a distraction."

"And I will be meeting with the newly founded E.A.R.W.I.G. society."

"Earwig?" Seamus frowned.

"Elves Accessing Rights for Wand Integration Guidelines."

"Merlin, at least S.P.E.W. was easier to say," Seamus muttered.

"It's mostly another ruse. We had Rueben spread a false rumour that the Order is going to rob Ollivanders of wands and distribute them to E.A.R.W.I.G. during our meeting. We'll have all our Aurors in Diagon Alley tomorrow to throw them off. They'll be preoccupied there while we smuggle the four children out of the country."

"Is there a reason why we need to take them to two separate safe houses before getting them out of the country?" Fred piped up.

"We know that the Elite Squad has been tracking most of us, especially the Weasleys. So it's safest to split up," Ginny supplied.

"What was the plan supposed to be the night Victoire went missing?" Molly asked. "I mean, you were apparently making a plan. I'm curious what it was originally."

"We were communicating with Rueben. We decided it would be best if Victoire was placed in the prison cells with the Squibs after her interrogation," Ginny explained, a lacklustre tone accompanied the old plan's description. "Reid was going to attempt to steal the key when Romnuk next left the base, which we would then use to rescue Victoire and the Squibs all at once."

"Of course, we're glad we have Victoire with us," Harry added firmly, his eyes moving over to Teddy who had sunken further into his seat. "Leaving Victoire in a prison cell for over a week would not have been our first option by choice."

"Now that we know how to access the Mountain through the mineshaft, we may have an element of surprise," Ron added.

Molly was satisfied with this, but both Victoire and Teddy seemed dejected.

Teddy caught Harry's eye, and he expected bad news. "I would prefer it if I weren't on the A-Team."

"What?" Bill barked. Everyone around the table shifted to stare.

"I'll take his place," Molly immediately offered, thrusting her hand into the air.

"Hold on," Ron protested, half standing in his seat. "Teddy, you are one of three people here who have been _inside_ Base Bowfall."

Victoire was glaring at Teddy, but he was staring resolutely at the adults on the other end of the table. "I'm not a fighter. I'm better off being one of the people who transports the kids to the safe houses."

"I'll swap with him," Molly said, hand still in the air.

"Or me," Dom added quickly.

"No one is swapping," Ron snapped.

"Is there a reason you want out?" Hermione asked tenderly. "I mean, is this about everything that happened last week?"

"Er, naturally," Teddy replied. The sarcasm he laid on his voice was thick. "But it mostly has to do with the fact that I am not ready to throw a knife or a curse that could kill."

"Victoire, talk some sense into him," Bill instructed.

"Sorry, Dad, but Teddy and I aren't really on speaking terms," she replied bitterly, refusing to look his way. "But I think he's old enough to make his own decisions."

"Well, if he _wants_ to swap, I'll swap with him," Fred suggested affably, as if doing everyone else a favour.

"No one is swapping!"

"Let him swap," Harry allowed, not taking his eyes off his godson. Ron's blue eyes bulged slightly. The confusion had stoppered up the rage. "It's Teddy's call. Molly can swap with him. Teddy can Apparate with one of the kids, back to Shell Cottage."

Teddy nodded, relaxing back into his seat. Ron looked flabbergasted, but he too dropped back into his chair. Harry shuffled through the plan in his head.

He knew that the others wouldn't comprehend such a last minute change in plans, but Harry knew he had to do what was best for the group as a whole. Teddy was not ready to fight—perhaps he never would be again. The idea of fighting would conjure up the ghosts of his mother and father, the scar tissue passed down from parent to son. Teddy Lupin was born out of their death. (It was his defining trait, more than his blue hair and piercings.) For so long, he had chased the fight like a Chaser goes after the Quaffle, with something he had to prove. Something he had inherited. But he was done rebelling. He was done with picking fights and pointing fingers and switching sides. He was done trying to live up to his parents.

Harry knew that whatever Teddy had gone through at Base Bowfell had almost finished him off. Victoire had come back drenched in blood and on the edge of unconsciousness, but still she was keen for a fight. It was Teddy who was broken, Teddy who wasn't coping. At night, Harry could hear Victoire toss and turn and mutter through her nightmares, but it was Teddy who had locked himself up in the attic. It was Teddy who was removing himself from the fight.

He wouldn't cope in the fray, and there was no point forcing him into it. He knew that Teddy wanted to play the role of the rescuer, not the warrior.

Harry owed that to him at least. Because he had been having nightmares for a very long time, but Teddy had not. Luna was right. It was all starting up again, and it would be Teddy left with sleepless nights and nightmarish days. And Harry owed him a bit of peace.

* * *

Ellie Cattermole and Rubeus Hagrid were an unlikely pair.

Cattermole was a small, slight witch as nimble as a fox. Hagrid was a lumbering, bumbling half-giant with a beard to rival Father Christmas'. There was one commonality that the pair shared—they were determined to keep the Weasley and Potter children well in order.

They said goodbye to their parents around eleven, before being shuffled into their fireplace with a fistful of grey powder. Hugo went first, then Rose, and they both arrived at the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace in a gush of emerald flames.

Ellie Cattermole and Rubeus Hagrid were waiting side by side, in front of a table assorted with the young Potter-Weasley clan. Lily and Louis were lounging back on their chairs, going over their reading lists. James, Albus and Roxanne were pursuing a newspaper. Hugo and Rose were the last to arrive.

"We're being baby sat today," Rose muttered as she joined Albus.

Albus agreed, pursing his lips. "Cattermole has been on James like glue since he got here."

As if to exaggerate this, James stood in his seat only to be descended upon by the pesky ex-Auror. "Oh, no, dear. Where do you think you're going?"

"To order a butterbeer," James scowled, plunging his hands in his pockets.

"It's rather early in the day to have a butterbeer," Cattermole simpered. "Why don't we wait until after lunch?"

James fell back into his seat, a mutinous expression pinching his lips together. He leaned close to Rose and Albus, sticking his head between them. "I bet our parents are out on that mission today."

"What mission?"

" _The_ mission," James said, wiggling his eyebrows. "The one I gave them all my information about. I know they're doing it today, and I know where they're Apparating from and _they_ know I'd probably shove my nose into their business if I could get away with it. They've organised to have us manhandled all day so we can't meddle in it."

"What are you three whispering about?" Cattermole trilled, hastening over to their table. Begrudgingly, the trio broke apart.

"Bes' be gettin' on with it," Hagrid said affably, heaving himself out of his seat. "Might split the young ones up ter do their shoppin' all at once."

"Well, I suppose Hugo, Louis and Lily can stay with you, Hagrid. And perhaps I'll take James, Rose, Roxanne and Albus."

"We'll meet back here in two hours, then," Hagrid agreed.

Resentfully, the two groups separated. While the younger ones headed off to the bookshop, the sixth and seventh years made their way to the Apothecary. Rose and Albus were both incredibly aware of how many goblins they passed in Diagon Alley, either dressed in fine dress robes or the formidable armour of the Elite Squad, sword and wand crossed over their chests. James seemed to hardly notice them, his eyes instead following the wizards and witches around him, occasionally pointing them out to Roxanne.

The Apothecary was filled with a mix of pungent aromas. Pickled bat livers and toad eyes bobbed in glass bottles. The shelves were stacked with fennel and dittany. The room was dark and crowded, and they all aimed to move as quickly as possible to collect what they needed for the term ahead.

Roxanne paused at the front shelf, laid out with a selection of ready-made potions. She picked up a small bottle with a bright pink label wrapped around the brown glass. After staring at the label, she held it up for James to see. "Have you seen this?" she whispered, handing it to James. The golden cursive script read: _Squib Prevention Potion_.

"This can't be real," he muttered, turning it back and forth.

Roxanne picked up the leaflet accompanying display of potions.

 _Slug & Jiggers's new line of _Squib Prevention Potions _are a must for every mother-to-be. By eliminating disabling genes from the human race through this simple blend of herbs and ingredients, our society can flourish and prosper. The potion is an easy precaution for any witch to take if she is trying to start a magical little family of her own. Ministry Approved and 100% effective._

"Who would _make_ a potion like this?" James demanded quietly, shoving the little jar back onto the shelf.

"Someone who'll sell out their ethics to make a quick buck," Roxanne muttered.

"Let's not loiter, you two!" Cattermole called as she shuffled the others to the register. James gritted his teeth and followed his cousin over to their chaperone.

They moved from shop to shop, followed by the eyes of Victoire Weasley and Harry Potter on every hard surface that could carry an Undesirable Poster. Diagon Alley had changed. It was no longer the bright, cheery, social hub of their younger years. It was now a heavy business district swarmed by humans and goblins that did not stop to speak or dawdle. Guards in Elite Squad armour patrolled in the stores too, searching people's bags. Their group received many narrow-eyed looks, but no goblins dared to approach them, whether because of their chaperone or the public scene, Rose couldn't say.

Finally, they made their way to Flourish and Bloots. The bookshop was busier than usual, humans and goblins rummaging through shelves stacked to the ceiling. The sixth and seventh years had to split up now in order to find their books, and after a bit of an internal debate, Ellie Cattermole opted to follow James and Roxanne rather than Rose and Albus.

"Even after you pay for your books, make sure you wait until we can all leave together," Ellie stated, a pleading tone in her voice, before she moved off after the two seventeen year olds already bolting for freedom.

Rose didn't have time to extract the mirror from her canvas bag. A long, fishbone finger tapped her shoulder, and when she turned around, she found it was attached to Scorpius Malfoy. He smiled at both Rose and Albus ruefully, tucking his hands into his pockets. "I've been following you for the last half an hour," he explained.

"Not at all creepy," Albus replied, shaking his hand in greeting. Rose briefly exchanged a hug, which Scorpius seemed to cringe a little under. They were all holding their books lists, and Scorpius had found a few books.

"Who's that little witch chaperoning you from shop to shop?" Scorpius asked.

"Chaperoning? She's practically a prison warden," Albus replied, rolling his eyes. "She's an ex-Auror."

"Ah. The Weasley-Potter Protection Program."

"Mental, isn't it?" Rose scoffed, although she liked the phrased he had coined. "The Elite Squad is out in high numbers today, though, so I'm sort of glad."

Scorpius had already picked up three copies of _Flesh-Eating Trees of the World_ , handing two of them out to Albus and Rose. They then went hunting for _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6_ by Miranda Goshawk, _Confronting the Faceless_ and _A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration._ As they worked down the list, Scorpius noticed a book under their prescribe Potions' series. "There's a supplementary textbook for Potions," he said, pointing it out. " _Crafting Concoctions: A Guide to Experimental Brewing_ by Stella Bellucci."

"Never heard of her," Rose shrugged. "And I don't like the sound of Experimental Brewing."

The three of them wandered over to the Potions shelves, where the books were packed in tight and there was little room to move. They forced themselves into the back corners. They found _Advanced Potion-Making_ with little trouble, and continued to inspect the shelf, for Libatius Borage would have to be close to Stella Bellucci. All three had their back turned to the mouth of the aisle, watching as Scorpius traced a finger over the Bs.

Suddenly, a pair of hands wrapped so tightly around Rose's body that the breath was squeezed out of her lungs. Panic prickled through her as she momentarily thought a goblin had grabbed her from behind. However, when she looked down, she identified two small, skinny arms wrapped around her torso.

"Rose!" a familiar voice cried, bubbling with an ungodly amount of mirth and excitement. The arms slithered back so Rose could turn around and confirm her fears. Meredith Maxwell bounced in front of her, having grown a little bit taller and lankier over the summer. Still, she had the same baby face framed by a yellow ribbon, now worn as a headband. "I can't believe I ran into you! Isn't that a coincidence? We came to Diagon Alley on the same day! Oh, oh, oh—" she leapt back as if she had forgotten something. "Stay right there, I won't be a second."

"Merlin's beard," Rose groaned, running a hand over her face as the small girl skipped away.

Scorpius returned with Albus by his side, their books piled in their arms. They both examined their friend with some confusion. "What's up?" Albus asked.

But an answer wasn't necessary; Meredith was already bounding back through the bookshop towards them, this time with two baffled adults in tow. They both looked completely and utterly like muggles —the man tall with small spectacles, the woman shorter and rounder with soft doughy arms and Meredith's eyes—coming to a halt before their daughter.

"Mum, Dad, this is Rose Weasley, the girl I told you all about," Meredith said, linking her arm through Rose's as she made the introduction. "Oh, and this is her cousin Albus and her friend Scorpius. Scorpius is also the Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team."

"Well," Mrs Maxwell said once her daughter had paused to draw breath. She gave Rose a very kindly smile. "We have certainly heard a lot about you."

"Have you?" Rose mumbled, her cheeks going bright red. Every mean thing she had ever said or done to Meredith flashed through her head in that moment, leaving her quite chagrined.

"Yes, we really appreciate you looking after our little Meredith," Mrs Maxwell beamed. "From all the stories we've heard, you've made her very welcome in your school."

"Er, sure…well…don't mention it," Rose mumbled.

"Not just Rose, Mum," Meredith cajoled, linking her other arm through Scorpius', dragging him down so he was level to her height. "Scorpius has also looked after me too. Both he and Rose are prefects!"

"That's right," Scorpius said, smiling charmingly. Rose blinked at him in surprise, and Albus crept back against the shelves to admire the scene with a smirk on his face. Scorpius went on gracefully, despite being anchored by the twelve-year-old's hooked arm. "Meredith is quite a loquacious member of our House, and all of the older students have grown quite fond of her. I believe she's very interested in Quidditch, too?"

"Yes, well," Mr Maxwell squinted uncertainly behind his spectacles, regarding Scorpius with mistrust. "We've heard about this Quit-ditch-sport and I'm not sure if it's entirely safe."

"Daaad!" Meredith complained.

"Oh, your concern is natural as her father," Scorpius replied, the disarming smile still gracing his cherub's lips. Rose wasn't sure who this person was. "But I hear she's a rather good flyer. And Quidditch is no more dangerous than any other contact sport in your world."

"Well…she used to play football back in primary."

"It's just like that, really," Scorpius said encouragingly. Sensing Rose's embarrassment, he went on with greater boldness. "In fact, Rose was just saying earlier how much she would love Meredith on our team."

"What?" Rose bleated quietly.

"Really?!" Meredith exclaimed.

"We should get going now," Rose said loudly, disentangling her arm from the eager student beside her. "I'm sure you have plenty of shopping to do."

"Of course," Mrs Maxwell smiled, taking her daughter's arm and leading her towards them once more. "It was really a pleasure to meet you, Rose."

As soon as the family has disappeared out of the bookshop, Rose turned on her two male counterparts with unbridled fury. They were both attempting to contain their laughter.

"Why do you go encouraging her like that, you know she's clingy as it is!" Rose cried.

"I'm sorry," Albus said, choking back laughter, "but that was hilarious. She hero-worships you."

"Rose has that effect," Scorpius said, smiling fondly. Rose shot him a look, but the moment of affection went unnoticed by Albus, as someone else called his name. He looked around sharply, perhaps frightened that some young and keen equivalent of Meredith Maxwell would jump him as payback.

Instead, Imogen Abercrombie, his fellow Gryffindor prefect partner, picked through the crowd to meet them. She had her wand levitating a stack of books in front of her, disregarding the fact she wasn't strictly supposed to be performing magic underage.

As always, Rose felt a rush of intimidation as Imogen approached. Her tawny eyes were permanently hooded with drooping lids, giving her a look of permanent disdain. The long, ash blonde hair that fell down her back looked unkempt and un-brushed—everything about her oozed a sense of aloofness, a too-cool-to-care vibe that unsettled Rose, who cared about impressing everyone far too much.

She appraised Albus for a moment, her brows raised. "You look a bit like a midget next to Weasley and Malfoy."

"Cheers," Albus replied, as if the insult was a compliment. "How was your summer?"

"Don't be polite," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "We did that in our last letter. You know it was boring and remote and as painfully muggleborn as anyone could imagine. Do you have any idea who this Stella Bellucci bird is? I can't find her book."

"Over here," Scorpius said, gesturing to the stack on the shelves behind him. She nodded in thanks, breezily squeezing past the two Slytherins to retrieve the book she needed. She nodded to him in thanks and fingered the hard spine.

"Are you lot doing anything for lunch?"

"We weren't planning to," Albus replied. After a brief pause, he added, "Would you like to have lunch together?"

Rose groaned quietly under her breath and Albus casually elbowed her in the ribs.

"Sure," Imogen shrugged, her nonchalance masking how pleased she was. "I'll meet you in an hour at the Leaky Cauldron."

With that, she had left, carrying her cloud of indifference with her. Rose glared at Albus, who pretended not to notice, and Scorpius suggested they pay for their textbooks in order to diffuse the tension. The three of them joined the queue and milled about while they extracted their coins.

"Why are you friends with her?" Rose complained, unable to help herself. "She's so…unfriendly."

"We're not friends," Albus corrected. "We're prefect partners."

"You write _letters_. You're friends."

"Well, you two are prefect partners and _you're_ friends," Albus accused.

"Er, yes," Rose replied, nodding salaciously at Scorpius, who busied himself with sliding his books onto the counter.

"Nothing wrong with being friends with your prefect partner, anyway," Scorpius mumbled, handing over his money while the witch serving him packed his items into a bag. Rose and Scorpius did their bests to look anywhere but at each other.

* * *

"So, Hagrid, what exactly _are_ our parents up to today?" Louis asked.

"Er, I really shouldn't tell yer, Louis."

"I mean, Victoire's not living with us anymore. Has it got something to do with that?"

"Yer sister is safe, mind you. Tha's all tha' matters. At least, she's safe where she's bin livin', although she won't be all that safe right now I s'pose." Hagrid glanced down at the three fourteen year olds bouncing along at his side. He watched them share a meaningful look. "Shouldn't have said tha', nope, should not have said tha'."

They had been quizzing him in this way for the last hour, deliberately trying to force him to slip out information. So far, their old family friend and Professor had done an excellent job keeping his mouth shut, although it appeared to be taking all his concentration, as his ruddy cheeks turned an even dark red.

Their shopping bags swung at their arms as the three children did their best to find a new line of questioning. So far, Louis had been the best at cross-examining Hagrid, coming up with the most creative and long-winded ways to extract information. The other two put it down to him being a Ravenclaw.

"Have there been any changes at Hogwarts these holidays?" he asked, changing tact as they entered Amanuensis Quills. A nearby goblin was testing out a variety of quills, scribbling on a leaflet of floating parchment. Hagrid shuffled between the children to block them from his view with his enormous bulk.

"Hogwarts is the safest place in the world, yeh have nothin' to worry 'bout."

Lily carefully began to inspect a Quill, rolling it between her fingers. "Oh, I hope so, especially since James always seems so determined to break out at night."

"What?" Hagrid asked, looking at her sharply.

"That's right," Hugo added, picking up a pot of Ever-Changing-Colour Ink. "He's always sneaking off at night, he even used to meet up with goblin gangs. Hopefully the grounds have tighter security this year."

"Well, they 'ave ter, of course! Ter stop any goblis gettin' in. I doubt James'll get through all the spells Neville and I have put up."

"Just spells?" Lily asked, pulling a face that said clearly how much stock she put in that.

"Well, the Ministry wanted the Elite Squad patrollin' the grounds, but Drummon' said no chance! Hogwarts draws the line at Dementors and Goblins, he said. I don' trust them goblins te be on th' grounds anyway, if ye ask me," he huffed, glaring out the window where swarms of the Elite Squad marched down the alley. Earlier, they had seen a goblin shake out a Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes bag. Anything connected to the Potters or the Weasleys was drawing attention, and it made sense that they were being accompanied by Hagrid.

Still, that didn't mean they weren't going to get anything out of it. "It looks like there're more Elite Squad members patrolling today than usual," Hugo said.

"It's none of yer business why they're out an' about today. Yer mum warned us that would be the case with her meeting and the Order doin' their business, so it's all as expected."

The three fourteen year olds shared another look. Hagrid's expression fell. "Shouldn't 'ave told yeh that, I should not have told yeh that."

* * *

Harry, Ron, Seamus, Molly and Victoire were to enter the Mountain first. They did not have goblin-made armour, which was to their disadvantage, but hopefully they wouldn't need it. They were all carrying goblin made knives, hooked onto their belts, and they were all armed with their wands. Reuben had assured them that the mines were empty on weekends, as they had been fortuitously the week before. The cost should be clear.

Hermione had sent them a note fifteen minutes earlier, simply saying that the E.A.R.W.I.G. meeting had gone ahead and most of the Elite Squad was monitoring Diagon Alley as a result. All the ex-Aurors in the Order were out in plain sight, with the exception of Ron and Harry. The Base should have been empty, but Harry was not convinced.

Base Bowfell loomed over them, rippled and rugged stone melting into dark, mossy grass. It was impossible to imagine that the entire inside of the mountain had been excavated. Hollow like a hermit crab shell.

The second team arrived. Bill, Fleur and Neville quietly Apparating some yards away and joining those ahead of them. Fleur went to stand beside her daughter, linking her arm through hers. Victoire gazed at the mountain with an icy coolness. She flexed her arm, nervous.

"Tu n'as qu'à dire no," Fleur said quietly, leaning into her daughter's side.

"Je veux me vanger, maman," she replied, slipping her fingers around her mother's waist. "This time I won't be tied up."

Bill stared at his wife and his eldest daughter, the emotion hard to read under his old scars. Harry could just imagine what he was feeling.

They were supposed to have the element of surprise, coming in through the shaft. He hoped that would be enough.

The last team arrived, Ginny, Luna, Fred and Teddy. Teddy took one look at the mountain in broad daylight and shuddered.

"We go in first," Harry said. "We send the kids down the shaft one by one. Bill, Neville and Fleur will deliver them outside. The last group will take them to the houses with side-along Apparition. If anything goes wrong, make sure the kids get out first."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Seamus said with a grim smile.

"It feels like we're back in Dumbledore's Army again, doesn't it?" Luna said, smiling weakly at Seamus, Neville and Ginny.

"I wish we were," Neville scoffed. "I wouldn't mind being seventeen years old and a fair bit fitter."

"And after meeting Grigarex, I almost miss the Carrows," Ginny joked, pretending to swoon.

"We'll take down a few goblins today if we get the chance," Seamus grinned. "Dean'll be so bloody jealous."

Harry couldn't bask in their feeling of long-established camaraderie. He had not been there in his seventh year to fight off the Carrows and start an underground resistance. He had been alone, fumbling in the dark without the slightest idea of what Dumbledore needed from him, with only Ron and Hermione on his side. He looked at Ron as he thought this and caught his tired blue eyes. They gave each other a firm nod.

Regardless of where they had all fought so many decades ago, they all shared the same nightmares.

"Teddy," Harry said, turning to his godson. "You're the only one here who knows where the secret entrance is located. Victoire doesn't remember it, so if you could—"

Teddy was already marching past them, leading the way towards the mountain. They ducked low so the shrubbery would conceal them, but there didn't appear to be anyone patrolling outside. Eventually they reached a hovel that Teddy indicated was it.

"You may not be able to operate the cart," Teddy admitted. "You'll need a goblin to steer it."

"We'll use a spell to propel it along the tracks," Harry reassured him. "We know which way we need to go."

Satisfied, Teddy hastily returned to his own division.

Harry tucked his hand into his robes. His Invisibility Cloak was pressed against his chest, the black keystone and a small phial wrapped in it. He pulled out the phial, the red liquid inside shinning bright in the sun. It was a pint of goblin blood, kindly extracted from Orlick's arm the day before.

He splattered a few drops of the blood on the stones and they dissolved under the spots of red. The gaping tunnel, dark and winding, steeply fell towards the earth. Victoire gritted her teeth and pushed ahead of the others so she stood by her Uncle's side.

"Let's go."

* * *

James, Roxanne, Rose, Albus and now Scorpius all followed Ellie Cattermole through the crowded streets of Diagon Alley to the Leaky Cauldron. Hagrid had yet to join them with the younger group, but Ellie seemed far too concerned to wait around in the street, and led them hastily back to the pub at the end of the cobbled arcade.

James looked far grumpier than usual, his eyes still skirting the crowd. Ever since the Bent-Winged Snitches, his eyes never stayed still. They rolled around in his head like they were following a fly.

"There's a lot of elite squad out today," Albus acknowledged as they entered the Leaky Cauldron.

His older brother shot him a disgruntled look. "No, mate, there's a lot of _ex-Aurors_ out today. I've seen Dawlish, Williamson, Proudfoot and Shacklebolt just loitering around the Office buildings."

"You saw Shacklebolt?" Rose asked, raising her eyebrows.

"They're not doing anything either," Roxanne added. "I saw three ex-Aurors just standing outside Ollivanders, and a whole bunch of the Elite Squad just watching them stand there."

"The Elite Squad are only out today because the ex-Aurors are out today," James concluded, falling into a seat. Rose, Albus and Scorpius shared a meaningful look. They had no chance to discuss it further. Ellie Cattermole had reappeared, ushering them all to the table, and now their school Healer and the pub's owner, Hannah, had joined them as well from behind the bar—yet another adult to keep an eye on them. Rose was beginning to feel suspicious. They kicked back chairs and fell into seats and pursued the menu with lunch on their minds.

A hand grasped Rose's shoulder, and petrified that it was once again Meredith Maxwell, she didn't respond to it. Instead, she heard a grizzly voice in her ear. "Stalking me, are you?"

She laughed, spinning around in her chair. Zabini's wicked grin flashed white against his dark skin. Rose stood to hug him, much to the bemusement of the crowd. "Hey," Rose said, giving his shoulder a light push. "How are you?"

"Not bad at all. Living in a damn good room and having a decent meal every day," he said with a playful look in his eyes. "Almost like being at Hogwarts, really."

"You haven't been back home yet?" she asked quietly.

Zabini rolled his eyes, not looking in the least bit as if he were homesick. "I don't think I want to see my mother for the rest of the summer." Following this statement, he ducked around to examine the rest of her table. "It's like playing a game of odd-one-out," he said, gesturing to Malfoy.

Scorpius winced, also standing to shake Zabini's hand. Everyone was sending the three Slytherins dubious looks, but Imogen Abercrombie arrived in that moment, dragging a seat over to join their table, and soon they were all sitting together eating lunch.

Scorpius didn't ask Rose why he and Zabini seemed to be on such excellent terms, and she was grateful that he didn't. She appreciated his trust, not wanting to backtrack and explain everything that had happened while he was in France. She linked her fingers with his under the table, and noticed out of the corner of her eye that Scorpius smiled. She smiled too.

"Why are you two smiling?" Albus frowned.

"Because they both think I'm hilarious," Imogen replied dryly, reaching over to snag one of Rose's chips. "Let's talk. Do you think there's a way to dump all our prefect patrols on the new fifth-year prefects?"

"I like that," Rose said, nodding at Imogen. "That's a good idea."

"We can't do that," Albus cried, genuinely outraged.

"I bet they're all morons anyway," Scorpius muttered. "They'd probably all get stuck in the trick stair and we'll have to come rescue them."

"It'll just give us more time during prefect patrols to…do our own thing."

Zabini shot Imogen a smug look that contrasted perfectly with Albus' confused one. Rose stifled a smile and pressed gently on Scorpius' toes with the tip of her sneaker.

"Also, we should ban them from using the Prefect's Bathroom unless they can adequately impress us with their duties."

"They have every right to use the bathroom. Honestly, Imogen," Albus scoffed.

"You would do well in Slytherin," Rose noted, pinching one of Albus' chips and using it to point at Imogen.

Zabini raised his eyebrows in dubious disdain. "Gryffindors and Slytherins acting like the best of mates? What the hell do you call this?"

"It's called peaceful coexistence," Albus supplied, passing Rose his chips. "Maybe if we can figure it out, we can sell the idea to the goblins and the humans."

* * *

There was no cart at the bottom of the shaft, which meant no way up. Still, the pit was empty, no goblins around. Perhaps it had been moved elsewhere to be unloaded.

"We can split away a part of the stone and use it like an elevator," Molly suggested, pointing to a slab against the wall. "I mean, I've never done that before, but it'll be similar to the stairs of the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts."

"Good idea," Seamus agreed. He took out his wand and gouged away a slab of stone so it jutted out like a platform. The five of them shuffled onto it. Harry was nervous about this. There should have been a cart according to Rueben. The goblins may be onto them.

Pointing his wand towards the ground, Seamus set the stone slab moving. Slowly and carefully, they headed up the shaft on their make-shift elevator. So far, they had not seen any goblins, and when they reached the tunnel that joined to the shaft, the coast was still clear.

"Straight for a while, then we take a right," Victoire said quietly. They set off again, following behind her. As they walked, Molly drew a glowing red line over the floor using her wand, marking their way through the labyrinth. Victoire's silver blonde hair glinted gold in the torches along the walls. They followed Victoire, taking corners, watching her count the torch brackets along the walls. Twice, she took out the directions that James had written on a piece of parchment at the Order meeting last week. Then, they would pick up again.

Wands first, Victoire and Harry rounded final corner leading to the prisoner's cavern. As they inched around the wall, they entered the empty space. Harry frowned. He had been certain they would find someone by now.

"Change of plans," he decided. "Let's get them all out at once. I have a bad feeling about this."

"Alright," Ron agreed. "Seamus, Molly, Vic and I will follow the path back down and get them to the others. You can stay behind us to make sure we aren't followed."

They skirted out around the mouths of the dark cells while Harry moved towards the plinth in the centre. He slipped out the warped black Specularite gem from the inside of his robes. He was terrified that the security measures had been changed, that the goblins knew the real stone was stolen. He had no idea what would happen if he placed this stone into its depression. The caves were too dark within to see if the children were inside. He couldn't dislodge the feeling that this was all a trap. Harry warned the others to be ready to run, and then dropped the stone into its slot.

The barriers in front of the caves shimmered and disappeared. There was no alarm and no rush of guards. No one moved. A few seconds passed. Ron shot Seamus a nervous look. Molly teetered on her toes. Victoire remained as stiff as marble. No one moved.

Then, the first child tiptoed slowly out of the cave, hesitant and fearful. The light fell on his feet, his chest, his face, as if giving back pieces of him. Harry recognised him instantly from the photographs given to Ron by the parents questioned. The boy did not open his mouth or utter a sound, but his eyes wheeled from face to face.

"Good," Ron muttered, sounding relieved. He was the closest to the boy. "We're here to get you out. There are people outside of the mountain who will get you somewhere safe."

The boy stood stock still, his lips shaking. Harry couldn't imagine why he hadn't spoken yet.

"He's in shock," Molly said quietly.

But it looked as if he was trying to speak.

"C'mon," Ron added, offering his free hand. The boy moved across to him, trembling visibly as he crossed the stone floor.

"RON!" Harry roared, flinging a curse over his shoulder. Out of the prison cell directly behind him, a goblin had rushed out of the shadows, sword held high and ready to behead. Harry's Disarming Charm dislodged the sword at the last moment.

There was a shout of anger, and then goblins were pouring out of the cells. They were all dressed in the Elite Squad armour, but they were all thugs. Blue ink tattoos were etched into their cheekbones, foreheads and eyelids., branding them as members of the Kobold Könige. Several of them dragged the three remaining children out of the cells, knives against their throats.

Before Harry had even fired his second curse, Victoire had thrown her knife at the neck of the nearest goblin, where it lodged itself in the chink of his armour. She dived forward to rip the knife out as he crumpled to the floor.

Hell broke loose. Spells whizzed over their heads, clashing with steel and iron. The goblins had known. They had been waiting, ready for an ambush.

Harry did what he had always done best. He winged it.

* * *

Bill, Fleur and Neville were waiting at the bottom of the shaft, wands ready and eyes fixed on the flickering light at the top of the steep drop. They all stirred anxiously.

"What's taking so long?" Bill muttered.

It was as he voiced their mutual concern that a beam of bright, white light shot down the shaft so fast it left them all reeling back, blind. Their eyes adjusted in time to see the wispy figure of a Jack Russel terrier, speaking with Ron's voice. " _It was a trap. We'll try to get the kids down, but there are ten goblins up here."_

As quickly as the Patronus had arrived, it vanished. The three Order members looked at one another, mortified. "Maybe we need to send back up."

"We can't, Neville. We need the others outside guarding the tunnel base."

"Well, maybe one of _us_ should go up!"

They all fell silent as the sound of pounding feet echoed far above. Then, Victoire's voice sounded loud and sharp. " _Glisseo_!"

The steep shaft transformed into an even steeper slide, and to their horror, they saw Victoire dive down it, her arms cradling a child: A boy. His shaved bald head gleamed in the light of their wands.

Quick-thinking, Fleur cast a Cushioning Charm on the ground below. Victoire landed on her feet, taking a great deal of force in her knees. She was panting hard. She relinquished the boy in her arms. Her cheek had a deep gash that was bleeding across her cheekbone, but she wiped the blood clear with her wrist, smearing her pale face.

"Fred has to take him to Shell Cottage," she said, her eyes wide and focused. "You three stay and guard the bottom of the slide. Seamus and Molly should be coming right after me."

"Alright," Bill said, his voice strained.

Victoire pushed past them, shoving the boy towards the tunnel's opening. She instructed him to move through. Blood was pounding in her head and there was a part of her that knew she had killed a goblin—two goblins now, if she counted Rodkin—but that part felt more laudatory than guilty. The fresh cut on her cheek stung and her shoulder ached from the memory of her last visit to the mountain. As she pushed the teenaged Squib through the tunnel, she convinced herself that she no longer had time for guilt.

Fred was waiting at the other end of the tunnel when they finally emerged. Seeing the look on Victoire's face, and the blood now smudged under her eye, he hesitated with his hands on the boy's shoulders. "Is everything okay?"

"Take him to Shell Cottage!" Victoire snapped, still panting hard from the run to the shaft. Knowing better than to ask, Fred grabbed the boy and turned on the spot, vanishing with a crack.

Ginny, Luna and Teddy were all running towards her. "The goblins ambushed us," Victoire panted. "There are no carts, and we ran on foot."

"Is anyone hurt?" Ginny demanded.

"As far as I know, no," Victoire replied. "I'm going back in to help the others."

With one last fleeting look, she turned and crawled back into the tunnel, clambering over the hard soil and rocky floor. When she finally squeezed out the other end, into the bottom of the mining shaft, she saw that Neville and her parents were still waiting nervously, wands pointed up.

"Still no sign of Molly or Seamus?" she asked, rubbing the dirt off her arms.

Neville shook his head, still staring up through the ceiling. He looked prepared to find a way up there, despite orders to stay at the bottom of the shaft. A moment later, they could hear two sets of footsteps echoing through the chamber high above. Relief flooded Victoire. It must have been Molly with the next child.

But it was not Molly's bleached blonde head that poked over the top of the tunnel—it was the faces of two children, white and pale. A boy and a girl. Dread flooded Victoire. Far beyond them, the sound of popping spells and clashing armour echoed through the tunnel. They were getting closer.

"Jump!" Victoire yelled.

The girl looked terrified, glancing back over her shoulder, but the boy beside her grabbed her by the arm and tugged her down after him. He slid legs first down the steep slide, the girl tumbling behind him. Their Cushioning Charm was ready to catch them.

Lights were flaring in the tunnel above their heads. Green and red and blue sparks. Victoire grabbed both children, tugging them towards the entrance of the tunnel. But before she could even look through it, a blue head of hair poked out. Teddy was panting hard, his face covered in dirt.

"No!" he cried, pushing Victoire back. "Stay in."

"Are you insane?" Victoire spat, both children under her arms. "They're on top of us!"

"You can't go out," he panted. "A dragon—there's a dragon outside."

Victoire's stomach dropped to her feet. Her father came to stand beside her, as wide and sturdy as the rock around them. When you're a child, your parents seem infallible. They can banish the Boggarts under your bed and kill the spiders in the corners of the room. In that moment, Victoire was hyperaware of how fallible her father was, how equally helpless he was. His voice held command, but the question was not reassuring. "What do you mean, a _dragon_?"

Teddy was not lying. There was no way he could stare at them with such profound fear if he were lying. "Luna and Ginny sent me to warn you—the top of the mountain split and out came this—this—this massive bloody _dragon_."

Neville was using a whole range of swear words Victoire had never heard him say, while her mother was whisking the children into the corner of the pit, near a pile of iron ore. Victoire's head was kicking back into fighting mode. "What kind of dragon?"

"W-what _kind_? I dunno! A big bloody blue one," Teddy cried, slightly hysterical. "How the hell would I know what this bloody giant flying lizard—"

"It's the Swedish Short-Snout they stole from us," Victoire said, flipping through an inventory in her mind. She was already ducking around her ex-boyfriend, climbing back into the secret tunnel. She looked over her shoulder only once, and it was not in his direction. "Mum, are you coming? You're the only one here who's fought a dragon,."

"Of course," Fleur replied, as if her daughter had asked her to pick up some milk and eggs. Swinging back her flaxen hair, Fleur joined her by the tunnel. "Although it waz Cedric who fought ze Short-Snout, I theenk."

"Get the kids and wait in the tunnel," Victoire told her father and her old Professor. She spoke to them like they were strangers—or soldiers. Both men nodded and followed her orders, responding to her as if she were a lieutenant.

It occurred to Victoire that she was fallible and _flammable_ , too.

Teddy stared at her but she refused to stare back. She was already in the tunnel.

* * *

Luna and Ginny worked well together. They had once both been leaders of Dumbledore's Army. They had once duelled Bellatrix Lestrange side by side.

Duelling a dragon was a fair bit more challenging.

The silvery blue dragon would soar as high as it possibly could before toppling over in mid-air and shooting back towards the earth in a pin dive. A spinning torpedo of bones and meat and scales. When it was close enough to the two witches, it would let out a lethal blast of blue flame. Ginny's robes had been singed twice and Luna's hair had caught fire the first time. They were both panting from running, and half the earth had been scorched. Flames licked whatever was dry enough to fuel them. There was nowhere to take cover.

Both women were afraid. There was no denying it. They would not be able to hold off the beast for long.

" _Bombarda Maxima!"_ Ginny screamed as the dragon began to plummet towards them again. The explosion occurred in mid-air, and although the dragon roared and reeled away in pain, it did not appear to be properly hurt. It spiralled around to attack them again, its bones prominent in its ribs and wings. It was clear that the goblins could not truly train a dragon. Only starve it and expect it to eat the nearest targets. The thought was terrifying.

It opened its maws to throw another jet at them, but Ginny was ready this time. " _Aguamenti_!" A jet of water flew hard and fast out of her wand like a high-pressure hose, aimed straight down the dragon's throat. It spluttered and coughed, flapping above them in great, cyclonic gusts as smoke poured from its mouth. With this distraction, Luna aimed her wand at its face." _Inretio Linum,"_ she yelled. A gold net burst from the end of her wand, muzzling the draggon's jaws. It turned it's head back and forth, attempting to break free. It's tail dashed over the ground, almost knocking them back. Soot stung their eyes and the ring of fire around them was burning higher.

"Cut its wings!" Victoire roared, rounding the field with her wand in one hand and her knife in the other. Fleur sprinted behind her, leaving the mouth of the tunnel that Ginny and Luna had long given up guarding.

The Swedish Short-Snout was rearing up again, flapping higher and higher while it wrestled with its muzzle. Victoire and her mother came to a stop beneath it, under the shadow it cast like a continent over the ground.

"There's no way we can get anyone out of this mountain," Ginny said, panting. "It plummets towards us any time we try to move."

"Well, we can't let them stay in there either," Victoire replied, her eyes on the airborne beast. "The goblins are almost in the shaft."

"Oh dear," Luna murmured, frowning back at the tunnel. The dragon cracked the net around its teeth, letting out a jet of blue flame far above them in celebration. Victoire and Fleur both looked up.

"We need to cut its wings," she repeated. Her mother took the knife from her waist to match her daughter's stance. "Swedish Short-Snouts are great in the air and terrible on their feet."

"I theenk you two should distract eet," Fleur said to both Luna and Ginny. The two women laughed nervously.

"I think we already were," Ginny said.

Fleur and Victoire separated, so as to cover more of the dragon's wingspan. Meanwhile, Luna pointed her wand at a nearby rock and Transfigured it into a large boarhound. She sent the black dog running into the dragon's field of vision. Seeing an edible target without the ability to attack it, the dragon swooped down once more. Then, just as it glided over the scorched earth, Fleur and Victoire both started sprinting for it glossy body. With a single jump, they were on its outstretched wings, slitting them with their knives like scissors on silk. The dragon roared in pain. It rolled onto the ground, writhing and twisting, taking the two women down with it. They were thrown onto the ground, thumping hard against the stone and rocks.

"This is our chance," Victoire yelled, nursing her ribs. "Get those two kids out!"

" _Two_ kids?" Luna asked, looking back to the tunnel. Neville and Bill were emerging out of the earth, children on their backs. They were sprinting as hard as they could for the rocks beyond the hovel, where the Apparition ban lifted. Luna saw them both and panicked. "There should be another one, shouldn't there?"

Bill and Neville crossed the invisible line, and in a moment, they turned and vanished. It was well timed, too. For the injured dragon was folding in it's wings like cut up umbrellas. It turned towards the four women standing a hundred yards away and charged towards them on its stumpy legs. They all raised their wands.

* * *

Ellie and Hagrid had joined Hannah by the bar, where they appeared to be drinking something far stronger than butterbeer. Everyone was conspiring about them in low voices, except for James, who was watching the door. He sat up straight as a goblin came out of the fireplace, dusting soot off his armour.

"Goblin," James said to alert everyone, watching him cross the room and duck through the back door.

"That's Selgrut the Sly," Lily supplied.

"Are you sure?" Hugo pressed.

"Of _course_ I'm sure. I don't forget a name and face. That's him."

"He tried to kill our Dad," Albus said through gritted teeth. He was already sliding out of his chair and following the Ministry's Chief of Defense out through the back door. Everyone at the table hissed after him, as if trying to pull Albus back into his seat with words alone. Rose hastily ducked out of her chair, throwing a furtive look towards the bar where the three adults were occupied. "Cover for me," she instructed her family. When Scorpius seemed to be under the impression that he, too, should remain behind, Rose grabbed him by the arm and pulled him after her.

"Wait, what exactly are we trying to achieve?" Scorpius whispered furiously as they exited the Leaky Cauldron and scouted the crowd in Diagon Alley for Albus' messy black hair.

"We need to catch you up to speed," Rose replied, pulling him through the crowd. "Albus and I have a habit of eavesdropping."

They caught him turning right into Knockturn Alley and both Slytherins sped up. Albus was delaying his steps as to keep a safe distance between himself and the goblin. As Rose and Scorpius stumbled up behind him, he held up an arm to keep them quiet. They crept by a shoddy tattoo parlour and a dilapidated betting shop. They hid behind a barrel of reeking eel brains while Selgrut approached a dusty, old antique shop. He tossed a final look over his shoulder before slipping inside.

" _Go, go, go_ ," Rose whispered, ignoring the hunched-back hag that was staring at them in bewilderment. The three teenagers crept up the street and by the time they reached the shop, Albus had already extracted an Extendable Ear from his pocket. He wiggled it under the door.

"You must be kidding me," Scorpius muttered, looking up at the sign that read Borgin and Burkes. Rose pinched his arm to keep him quiet. Albus hovered with their end of the string between them.

"… _I can make things worth your while_ ," they heard Selgrut say.

There was a pause on the other end. The three teenagers pressed their heads even closer together.

" _How much do you want for it?"_ Mr Borgin replied. He sounded as intense as he was intrigued. " _I could pay you a handsome sum_."

" _This article is priceless,_ " Selgrut dismissed. " _But I am willing to trade it._ "

Rose inched upwards slightly to peek through the display window of the shop. A dusty back of cards and a withered hand took up most of the display, and through a pair of black fingers, she saw the Chief of Defense speaking to the clerk. He was just snapping shut a small, velvet box and tucking it back into a burlap sack.

Borgin leaned back and drummed his fingers on the counter. " _What would be worth the trade."_

 _"I wanted to inquire about a set of Vanishing Cabinets. You had the sister of a very ancient set, did you not?"_

 _"That cabinet was sold to the Malfoys many years ago but we still have it in our storage cellar. If you would like to purchase it, I'm afraid you'll have to speak to them."_

 _"To the Malfoys?"_

Here, Scorpius jumped a bit, his lead levelling with Rose's. As Mr Borgin peered over to squint at his front window, Albus yanked both of their heads back down.

 _"Hmm…"_ after a pause, his attention returned to his customer. " _Draco Malfoy may be interested in a trade. He collects many Dark Artefacts and I'm sure his collection could do with a goblin-made piece. However, I would still need to be paid a commission."_

 _"I would prefer to settle this as soon as possible."_

 _"Absolutely. As the item is currently in storage, would you care to view it's condition?"_

The tread of boots signalled their departure from the front of the shop. Albus wound the Extendable Ear back up and put it in his pocket. He was deeply sullen. "What I would do to that piece of scum if I could get my hands around his neck."

"Let's go before anyone notices we're missing," Rose advised, plucking both the boy's sleeves and leading them back down Knockturn Alley. She noticed how pallid Scorpius' face had become, the way his usually milky skin looked sickly yellow. Albus was too mad to think through what he had heard, but Rose could guess that what was bothering her was also bothering her boyfriend. They slowed down as the took the corner back into Diagon Alley.

"Do you know why Selgrut would want a Vanishing Cabinet?" she asked.

"No," Scorpius scowled, a little defensively. "I didn't even know we _owned_ a Vanishing Cabinet."

But the conversation was cut short—further up the street, Rose was stunned to see her mother, marching with a band of elves holding a yellow banner reading E.A.R.W.I.G. across its length. Hermione's bushy hair ruffled in the wind and her face was set in a determined scowl, mirrored on either side by the two house-elves in the front row. Bewildered shoppers drew back to let the procession pass and a series of Elite Squad goblins stormed up the street to halt their protest.

Rose grabbed her boyfriend and cousin, pulling them into the alcove of a store. They were about fifty yards away. An argument appeared to be breaking out between her mother and the Elite Squad members.

"Clear the space, clear the space!" one Squad member was calling. "No unscheduled protests are allowed. All protests have to be cleared by the Ministry."

Several ex-Aurors—Shacklebolt and Dawlish—began to push towards the mob. A couple of the goblins were grabbing the elves, as if about to make an arrest. Hermione was throwing down the banner and appeared to be informing them through copious dialogue how they were well within their rights to protest. In the confusion, the trio took the opportunity to bolt back in the opposite direction, heading for the Leaky Cauldron. Rose's face was beetroot red. "Merlin, why can't I have a _normal_ mother?" she muttered as they neared the Wizarding Pub.

"I ask myself that same question all the time."

The three of them whipped around to find their uncle George toying with his one remaining ear, leaning against the back wall of the pub. As Rose, Albus and Scorpius drew to a halt, only inches away from the door, George moved forward to approach them. He was wearing a set of burgundy robes embroidered with _Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes_ and his red hair was sharp with gel.

"I'm assuming you three are up to some mischief," he said, raising one eyebrow, "because you all look panicky and guilty."

"We're not up to anything," Albus said quickly.

"I'm certain that you are, because Catty-Mole came running into my shop ten minutes ago asking whether I'd seen you lot. So, you can tell me what you did and allow me to cover for you, or you can lie and I'll turn you all in."

"We went to eavesdrop on Selgrut the Sly," Rose blurted out. Scorpius groaned. Albus shook his head. Rose couldn't help it. She had never been a good liar. "And my mum's hosting some sort of protest literally around the corner."

"You eavesdropped on Selgrut the Sly," George repeated, sounding somewhere between impressed and horrified. "Well…I'm guessing I need to stop selling you lot Extendable Ears. Hear anything good?"

"Not really," Albus replied quickly. "Nothing important."

"Let's get you three safely inside," George decided, pinching their shoulders and leading them back into the pub.

It was clear that their cousins and siblings had failed to distract the adults for long. Hannah was launching herself back down the stairs of the pub yet Hagrid was nowhere to be seen, most likely searching shops with Ellie Cattermole. George held up a hand to signal a return to order. "It's alright—I found them in the back room of my shop," he said, pushing the trio back over to the table."

"Are you lot mental?" Hannah demanded, coming to an abrupt halt in front of them. "Do you have any idea how _stupid_ it is to go running off on your own?"

"We were just around the corner," Rose replied.

Everyone else was giving them quizzical looks but the adults didn't appear so appeased. Hannah leaned down in front of them, and in that moment, she was every bit their school matron, hardly resembling their old family friend. "I don't want to see you three doing anything reckless, untoward or stupid, whether you're on holidays or at Hogwarts. If you do, I swear I'll find a way to sedate you all throughout the school year."

Her speech didn't last long. She sat up abruptly, turning away before she pulled a medallion out from under her shirt, where the gold chain had been hidden. She clutched the gold chain in her hand firmly, staring at the pendant on the end with intent, weary eyes. Then, she looked up at George with a sort of suppressed alarm. "Do you have to get back to the shop right now?"

"It's my lunch break," George replied.

"Alright…alright…Go floo Shell Cottage and ask what's happened," she said, her eyes still intent and distressed. "Just—check in. You can use the fireplace in my room upstairs."

It was as if they had forgotten the children between them. Rose, Scorpius and Albus looked at the adults with some confusion, before Hannah was shepherding them back over the table and leaving to find Hagrid and Cattermole. The others were watching with inhibited interest, but no one dared to ask what they had heard while Imogen and André sat in their number.

Privately, Scorpius acknowledged that only certain things could be shared within the Weasley-Potter clan, and somehow he had been adopted into that. There was the muted concern about what was happening in the world of the adults, away from their own investigation. But mostly, the three of them were now turning over the same issue—why did Selgrut want a Vanishing Cabinet, and what did that have to do with the Malfoys?

As their continued the conspiracies and conversations with the other teenagers, Rose slipped her hand back under the table to clutch Scorpius'. Things seemed complicated, more complicated than ever, and for the first time, Scorpius felt that there was a clash of interests in his life.

Would his father be approached by Selgrut? If so, what would happen? Would Scorpius interfere if it meant saving Rose and Albus' family? Would he have to betray his own father? He had no idea what he would do if it went against his own interests. He tightened his hold on Rose's hand and leaned his shoulder against Albus. They both seemed to shift in response to this subtle acknowledgment and it occurred to him how tricky this was—siding with them. Taking a stance. After today, it really seemed to mean something far more concrete than it had in theory.

His head continued to tick through all the possibilities.

Scorpius had never thought so hard in his life.

* * *

Molly had never fought so hard in her life.

They were being backed down the tunnel that led to the shaft, the goblins advancing as they took the higher ground. She wasn't sure what was happening with the other two teams. So far, no one they had sent off had returned. Harry had managed to get the other two kids out of the goblin's hands, and they had run ahead of them. Molly was hoping they had gotten down the shaft of their own accord and were now in the safehouses.

Harry and Seamus were taking on four fully armed goblins at once. Ron was gripping the last Squib girl with one arm while he did his best to fight with the other. With one look, Molly recognised her face. Linda Spinelli's daughter. She had been a high profile child, reported on in the papers. Her mother was the head of the Society of Social Welfare. What had her daughter's name been?

Molly threw another curse at an approaching goblin, but it bounced off his helmet. Instead, she used a Gouging Spell to hollow a large portion of the tunnel under the goblins feet, grateful to see him stumble and fall into the thin fissure. Cattermole's training was flooding back to her. If you can't get through their armour, use their surroundings to stop them.

She heard Ron yell and turned to see a knife deep in his right shoulder, jutting out at the hilt. Ron relinquished his grip on the girl as he was forced to switch his wand to his left hand. Still, he did not change positions, placing himself as a human shield between the Squib and the advancing goblins. Harry and Seamus were being backed closer and closer to Molly. The lip of the shaft was now on their heels, but when Molly glanced behind her, all she saw was a steep, black slide down into oblivion.

One of the goblins shot an explosive spell at Ron, knocking him backwards, and Harry only managed to stop Ron from flying down the shaft by hastily throwing an _Ascendio_ charm at him. The girl was now totally exposed and Harry's back was turned.

She was only a few years older than Lucy. She looked afraid. In the seconds that Molly paused to look at her, she knew her name.

"Alexia!" she yelled, diving towards her. "Get up and run!"

But Alexia wasn't responding; whether she was too weak to move or in pain, it was too hard to tell. Molly fired another Gouging Spell at the goblins, rocking the foundations of the tunnel by opening up yet another deep crack. Distracted as they were forced to retreat to slightly firmer ground, Molly took the opportunity to loop her hand under Alexia's torso and lift her to her feet.

In that moment, she knew she had made a stupid mistake. Her wand-favouring arm was now pinned under Alexia's body, and her right hand was empty. She had rendered them both defenceless.

She looked up in time to see a flare of green light, a curse that she had never seen before. In that moment, Molly knew that all of her self-righteousness and hard work and fair-mindedness would mean nothing in the face of death. She would die, holding this girl, neither of them capable of doing any magic to protect themselves. All it took was a second.

All it took was a second, and Seamus Finnigan had thrown himself in front of them before either young woman or young girl could draw breath. The Killing Curse hit him square in the chest, and he fell instantaneously at their feet. It was hard to imagine what he was thinking about in that last second; whether he was thinking about his own children; whether he was thinking about the days he had fought as a young man. Whether he was thinking at all. It could have just as easily been a reflex, an impulse of true bravery. He did it, and it was done.

"No!" Harry roared through tears and rage.

The world suddenly sped up again, making up for the lull in time. Molly was fumbling to switch her wand into her free hand. But before she even could, she felt the strangest sensation hit her. It was like the goblin's spells were bouncing off her.

"Get down the shaft! Ron, get Seamus and go down!" Harry yelled.

No one paused to question this. Molly grabbed Alexia and let herself fall backwards. The sensation filled her with nothing but white terror, and she embraced that abyss. Ron followed a moment later, Seamus clutched tightly in his arms. Then, before Harry leaped backwards, he collapsed the tunnel on top of the remaining battalion of goblins. He did not pause to see whether they were crushed to death or whether they were still alive.

He jumped after the others.

* * *

When they first saw them in the tunnel, there was relief. Relief, followed by horror.

Neville screamed, a strangle cry dying in his throat. Molly dragged Alexia away so she wouldn't see the body. Bill was tucking his arms under Ron's to help bear the weight of their fallen comrade. The earth like a coffin around them.

Harry was shaking. Ron was crying. Neville was still screaming. Incoherent chaos unfolded as they stumbled into the daylight, this slow procession for the dead. For an Irish boy who used to sleep in their bedroom, who used to blow up potions under Snape's nose and make up Quidditch chants.

"No, _no!_ How did this happen! _How_?" Neville demanded, his voice nothing but fury and pain and disbelief.

But words failed them as they got outside. The scene that met them was post-apocalyptic, far worse than anything inside the mountain. The ground was razed and black, smoke billowing through the air and flames licking the ground in a red-hot maze. There was a dragon outside, wings slit and lying on its side. Victoire was digging a knife out of its belly, her arms drenched in blood up to the elbow. Ginny, Luna and Fleur, obscured by soot and shock, ran to join them.

"Seamus—?" Ginny said, her voice tremulous.

Harry shook his head. "Back to Headquaters," he said.

It was a wonder between tears and exhaustion that anyone was able to find their way through the crushing darkness.

* * *

They all couldn't stop laughing. Roxanne had rehashed a story about The Three Dares and James' nude flight around the Quidditch pitch in third year, which ended with Professor Longbottom threatening to expel him for a week but not being able to bring himself to write a letter home to his mother explaining the incident. Those hearing it for the first time were in stitches, but even the Potter-Weasley clan who had heard the story many times before, were beside themselves with the retelling.

By this point, everyone had swapped seats in order to talk to the people they hadn't seen for a while. (Rose was sitting next to Zabini, opposite Scorpius, consoling their housemate about his poor O.W.L. marks even though Zabini did not appear in need of consoling; Albus was also sitting across from Scorpius, having an in depth discussion about Quidditch with Roxanne and James. Scorpius listened and occasionally considered joining in, but he had always preferred to listen.) The various conversations had all been distracted when Roxanne brought up the Three Dares, some sort of Potter-Weasley tradition that Scorpius had never heard of before, and then they were all in stiches as the story unfolded.

"It was the last Dare, too, but we saved the best for last. His little bare bottom wedged onto that broomstick," Roxanne continued, wiping tears from her eyes fondly. "He was on his third lap when Professor Longbottom came down to the pitch."

"Two weeks of detention," James said proudly, as if the whole story was worth boasting about. "Talked my way out of that one, and didn't even need to use a Niffler as an excuse."

"Unless someone shoved some gold up your arse and you were trying to fly away from the Niffler, I don't see _how_ you could blame it on a Niffler," Albus accused.

"Trust me, you can blame anything on a Niffler if you try hard enough," James said, relaxing back into his chair. "For instance, _I'm sorry Professor Turpins, I used gold ink on my homework and a Niffler ate it_."

"That's—just—how would _anyone_ ," Louis said slowly, shaking his head in disbelief, "believe something so _stupid_."

They were all laughing so hard that their sides were splitting.

Their chaperones weren't letting them leave for some enigmatic reason, so the afternoon had dwindled down to desserts and sweet drinks and butterbeers supplied by a distractible Hannah. Rose, Albus and Scorpius had put on hold all they had heard, enjoying the diversion that came in the form of old pranks and dares.

Scorpius had never, ever taken a dare. Nor was he one to tell the truth. He usually didn't play those sorts of party games. He didn't usually find himself in the situation where he needed to. That this was the culture of the Weasleys was somewhat terrifying.

"This is the year for your Sending-Out Pranks, isn't it?" Hugo asked Roxanne and James, propping his chin on his hand.

The eldest cousins cracked two cheeky grins and shared a sneaky side-long glance. Roxanne tugged her fingers through her dark hair, pulling it away from her brown, freckled face. "You know we can't discuss that. We can't even discuss it with each other."

"Sending-Out Pranks?" Zabini inquired, cocking an eyebrow. Scorpius was relieved he had asked, for he was also in the dark. There were a lot of inside jokes and traditions that he hadn't even been aware of up until that afternoon.

"Every time a family member is in seventh year, they have to pull off a huge scale prank without getting caught," Lily explained, one hand wrapped around her butterbeer. "It's their send-off before leaving school."

"Fred blew up the Gryffindor fireplace, like, a week before he graduated," Roxanne said, pulling a face. "Which hardly counts."

"Dom charmed every suit of armour in the school to follow the Professors around for days," Louis said reminiscently. "It took Flitwick two weeks to undo it."

"Merlin, I _remember_ that," Imogen burst out, her tawny eyes as wide as galleons. "That was Dominique Weasley?"

Vaguely, Scorpius remembered that too. He had been in his younger years, and had been as bemused as the rest of the school.

"She was always good with Transfiguration," James acknowledged. "At least all that N.E.W.T. level practice went to good use."

"Victoire's was the best," Albus interceded, grinning madly. "I remember, I was in first-year. I dunno how she did it, but she managed to change the Enchanted Ceiling in the Great Hall so it still looked as if it were night, and all the clocks in the school read the wrong time so everyone overslept. None of the teachers even made it to first period. Everyone was baffled."

"I remember that too," Scorpius said, blinking in surprise. "That was maddening. The whole day, the staff were trying to fix the ceiling. How did she possibly get away with that, that seems like an incredibly complicated prank?"

"I suspect she was on very good terms with the house-elves," James replied, smiling a little smugly. "In any case, I think she had some help."

It was bizarre to think all these strange occurrences that had transpired over the years, unexplained and inexplicable, had been the doings of the Weasleys and Potters as each prepared for graduation. All these elaborate pranks and obnoxious traditions. They seemed as foreign as another language and culture.

Rose smirked at her cousins, clearly amused by these retellings. It occurred to him that next year, she and Albus would be carrying out such antics. He wondered what deviant genius they would both come up with. It seemed as always that Scorpius was on the other side of a two-way mirror. Rose had said earlier that she and Albus needed to catch him up to speed. There was a lot he didn't know, that he didn't understand.

He didn't have much time to dwell on this. Ellie Cattermole, Rubeus Hagrid and Hannah Longbottom were approaching the group of teenagers huddled around their back table. The pub was emptier now, and it was some time around three.

Their laughter and reminiscing petered out as the adults approached. All of them looked exhausted. "We need to get you lot home," Ellie Cattermole said, sounding weary. Her usual upbeat, almost nauseatingly cheerful attitude had deteriorated. "Louis, you'll be staying at your grandmother's tonight."

Louis' goofy smile slowly slid from his face. He blinked between the adults with some confusion. "Is something wrong?"

"Your parents just need the house empty for tonight," Hannah supplied, a gentleness in the explanation that did not bode well.

"I'll also take you three to the Burrow too," Ellie said, nodding to the Potter siblings. "Your mum won't be home for a little while longer and it's best if you just stay with your grandparents for now."

These arrangements and the way in which they had been delivered seemed to suck all the glee from the teenagers, as if a Dementor was hiding in the darker shadows of the pub. Now, everyone was still, fidgeting nervously. Scorpius, Zabini and Imogen seemed extra uncomfortable to be among the close-knit family.

"And us?" Hugo asked eventually, sounding nervous.

"Yer Dad will take yeh home, Roxanne," Hagrid said, speaking to the brunette witch at the end of the table. "He's closin' the shop up early."

"Your Mum should be by to pick you two up soon as well," Ellie added, nodding to Hugo and Rose.

There wasn't much to say after that. Those departing collected their shopping bags from the floor and hugged their mates goodbye, too subdued to make much noise. They followed their various chaperones over to the fireplace and each took a handful of floo powder. Imogen and Zabini both sensed it was time to leave, and Imogen took Zabini up on his offer to see his new bedroom and connecting en suite. They also said their goodbyes and disappeared up to the second level of the pub.

"Has something happened?" Roxanne asked urgently.

"C'mon," Hagrid replied gruffly, looking a little queasy. "Let's get yeh back ter yer Dad's shop. He waiting fer yeh."

Roxanne followed Hagrid out with a bewildered look over her shoulder.

"Something's happened," Rose frowned, glancing at Hugo. He looked just as concerned, his thick brows drawn together. Scorpius sensed that this was a moment for the siblings that he couldn't possibly be privy to.

"I'll see you both later, I suppose," he said uncertainly, rising from his seat. Rose nodded distractedly, her face pale and strained. She gave him a pinched smile and offered her goodbye, and Scorpius took it to mean he should exit. He dragged back his chair and retrieved his own shopping bags, ducking nervously around Hannah Longbottom's acute stare as he headed for the fireplace. As he took a handful of floo powder, he heard the pub's back door open and twitched to the side to see who had arrived.

Hermione Granger had arrived, her thick hair plastered into a bun and her brown eyes as dark as empty cauldrons. The moment she saw her children, her lip began to quiver and she had to hold back tears.

"Mum," Hugo said, standing from his seat.

Hermione crossed towards them, a sob bursting from her mouth before she hastily smothered it. Rose was also standing now, her back to Scorpius' side of the room, but her body rigid with concern. "Mum?" Rose asked, parroting her brother helplessly.

"Did the Earwig thing go poorly, then?" Hugo asked.

"No—no, it was fine. That went as expected," she said, her voice choked. She wrapped her arms around both her children and Hannah stood back, wiping tears from her face. "We just need to get home, alright? Let's get home."

Scorpius turned then, stepping into the grate and throwing down the powder as he murmured his own address. He only got a glimpse of the Weasley family as their mother engulfed them in a tight embrace, as if relieved to have them breathing and alive in her arms.

* * *

None of it made sense.

How could one of their own be dead?

Teddy understood death. Teddy Lupin was born out of his parent's death. It was his defining trait. Death was walking off stage and not appearing for the second act. But his parent's death felt far away and muted, not even a memory.

This was real. There was a corpse downstairs in the drawing room and Harry was off telling a family that their husband and father was gone. It was surreal, but incredibly real. It was as cold and lifeless as flesh.

He thought of the dragon lying on its side on the scorched flat earth. The mountain had stood over it like a tombstone. Something so ferocious and full of fire could be so easily killed. Victoire had stuck a knife in its belly. She had slain it. She had killed goblins. She had killed. She had almost been killed.

The thought made him shiver.

It made no sense that they weren't together. That's what Victoire thought, anyway. They had gone through their school days being so madly in love without really recognising it. It was like being right up close to something so that it was impossible to grasp what it looked like. That's what their love was like back then, and that's what it was like now. She was so close to him that all she could feel was her anger and her disappointment. It was only when she took the steps back to see the whole picture that she understood. She needed the distance to gain the perspective.

She hadn't gone to Romania to leave Teddy behind. She needed the distance to understand what was in their picture.

And it made no sense that they weren't together. Seamus Finnigan had died. He had just _died_. He had thrown himself in front of someone else in a final moment of fearlessness. Victoire knew that she would do the same if it had come to it, and she knew that frightened Teddy. Sacrificed frightened him.

It made no sense. Death could come for them at any moment. Average life expectancies and plans for retirement were all a silly ruse to lull people into complacency. No one knew when it was their time to go. Life could be snatched away at any moment, at any age. Tomorrow wasn't guaranteed, so it made no sense wasting time being just friends with Teddy, with being angry with Teddy.

Her feet creaked on the attic's ladder. This time, she gently propped the trapdoor open, fingers splayed wide.

Teddy was not asleep. The attic was dark and only his silhouette moved as he drew in and exhaled long breaths. His arms were knotted over the top of his head. Victoire did not light the gas lamp or the tip of her wand. She walked further into the darkness, the dimness opening up as her eyes adjusted. The glow of the streetlamps seeped through the one small window, colouring the room in a grey scale palette.

He had made sense earlier; she was pushing herself onto him. She hadn't realised it before, but now she was willing to confess to it.

Teddy sat up. The sound of his sheets shifting and the mattress jostling indicated that he had been alerted to her presence. He was propped up on his elbows, but they couldn't read each other's faces in the shadows. They were cardboard cutouts.

Victoire tugged off her pyjama bottoms and struggled with her singlet. She let each article of clothing fall to the floor. She moved forward, a grainy grey silhouette moving like a bad photo in a newspaper. She felt paper-thin as she pulled back his sheets.

Teddy leaned back into his mattress, and Victoire wondered if he was shrinking away from her. If this was his rejection. She deserved it, too. She had been the one to run from him. It had been a moment of cowardice, and cowardice was not something Victoire forgave easily. She had watched him destroy himself and she had taken it personally. Right now, she deserved rejection.

But then his clammy hand clasped her ankle. His fingers hesitated before sliding over her calf. Her legs were covered in peach-like fuzz, bristling against his fingertips. The feeling raised goosebumps on her skin. He was not leaning away to reject her. He was inviting her in.

They were suddenly rapacious, as thick and slippery as clay. Her mouth fitted against his, reforming to an old shape. His chest was bare, skin as smooth as marble. Her fingers slid down to the waistband of his pants, which were familiar and worn. She knew every inch of him in the way she knew a puzzle she had pieced together a thousand times. She could do it all blind.

Teddy's hands kept returning to her hair, brushing through it from the base of her temples to the singed split ends. Proving to himself that she were real. He relaxed into the mattress, relieved, as if this alone had satisfied him.

Still straddling him, she lowered herself onto his hips. His fingers fumbled to find hers, linking through. Her hands rested on either side of his head, clenched with his. They rocked to their old, familiar rhythm. They rocked towards their ecstasy. They both seemed to recognise that they were built to fit together, built to love each other. It was the reason why they were born. He had been born out of his parent's deaths. She had been born out of their victory. Somehow, when they were together, they told the whole story.

It ended, sweaty and slick and breathless. Victoire rolled onto her side and left one arm and leg hitched over him, determined to remain attached. All that seemed to emanate from him was relief, his body looser and slacker than ever before, melting into the mattress beneath. His hand clasped her head, one thumb slowly and soothingly stroking her forehead.

"Let's be happy, now," she pleaded softly, pushing her face against his chest. "I'm tired of being sad. Let's just keep things simple and happy."

"You're the only person who's ever made me happy," he whispered back. Even in the dark, she was certain that he was crying.


	6. Chapter Six

—CHAPTER SIX—

The funeral was held in Ireland. It was supposed to be a small affair, but Seamus was a well-loved man. His youngest son read out a poem in Gaelic. Dean Thomas gave the eulogy through a tight, thick throat. Then, Seamus' wife and children stood on either side of the grave while Neville charmed the soil to knit its way over the casket, pushing up Wild Angelica in clusters of white, like pearls sprouting out of the air.

Harry pressed his lips into a hard line and walked away.

* * *

Simon Finnigan, fourteen years old, was crying hard into Hugo's shoulder. He had the snotty face of a boy who had cried for hours. Lily weaved her hands around her housemate and she cried, too. Simon sobbed while Lily and Hugo hugged him with arms like boa constrictors.

* * *

Angus Finnigan, sixteen years old, was standing out in the yard trying very hard not to cry. His face was as white as the pale sky above him. The scenery was breathtaking; mountains all around, the Devilsmother looming like a crouching giant and a perfect view of Ben Gorm mountain to the North, over the rippling fjordlands and turquoise water.

He didn't see it. He hadn't spoken much all day. He had always been an awkward, shy boy with nothing much to say, but now it was as if he hung in a daze.

Rose slipped out into the backyard. The autumn air was nippy so she drew near to Angus without hesitation. Grief was heavy on him, like a blanket around his shoulders. It was something Rose could only look at. She felt oddly separate from him. Wearily but with determination, she slid an arm around his shoulders. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said, tears slipping down his face like ice.

"You know, it's okay to say no."

Angus nodded blankly, staring at the gorgeous scenery he had grown up around. With an empty voice, he asked, "What would you do if you knew you were going to die tomorrow?"

Rose didn't have an answer prepared. She didn't have any huge bucket-list items she wanted to cross off before she kicked it. In all honesty, she wanted to keep on living in the way she had been. She wanted to have petty arguments and make meaningless bets; she wanted to wash the dishes and study for exams; she wanted to work in a job that became so second-nature that it felt mundane; she wanted to marry someone she would kiss before bed every night. She wanted a long life so she could carve out a humdrum routine that felt like as comfortable and reflexive as falling into her bed. She didn't want to die tomorrow, she didn't want to think about her final wishes before some heroic or tragic undoing.

"I don't know," she replied, frowning at the mountains. With a pang in her chest, she thought of Albus and her brother and parents, of her cousins and uncles and aunts and grandparents, and she thought of Scorpius. All the people she would miss, the people who would mourn her. "I would want to spend it with the people I love. And I would want to get in one last kiss, I think."

Angus turned to her, his glassy eyes clouded, and leaned in to press his salty lips against hers. He held them there for just a second before reeling back, a sob shuddering through his body like it was ripping him open. Rose grabbed his shoulders and pulled him against her as he began to cry, hugging him fiercely.

"I'm sorry," he wept against her shoulder. "I just feel like I could die tomorrow."

The problem was, so did she.

* * *

Rowan Finnigan, eighteen years old with a face full of freckles, was sitting in the lounge room with a glass of brandy in his hand. Everyone else was standing tall and straight like black columns, speaking in low muffled voices that sounded like Mermish to his ears. The only thing that felt real was the burn of the brandy.

He wasn't in the mood for consolation, so when Molly Weasley Junior took the seat beside him, he flinched away with annoyance. She was dressed in all black, even her fingernails, but he remembered from their schooldays (she had been in the year above) that she always painted her nails black regardless of the occasion. She was not a very likeable person. A Hufflepuff, he remembered, and one of the fiercely opinionated types. She always got mad when someone joked about Hufflepuff being the leftover's house.

"You should probably know," she said, her voice hard, "that your dad died trying to save my life. And saving a kid's life. I thought you should know."

Rowan clenched his jaw, cutting a perfect angle. "Okay."

"You should probably hate me for it," she said. "Merlin knows, I hate me for it. But what he did was really brave. I thought you should at least know that he was solid, right up to the end."

Rowan gripped his glass of brandy tightly as Molly stood to leave, but he spoke at the very last second. "I want to join the Order."

As he said this, both he and Molly turned their eyes to the same faces—that of his mother's pale, washed out complexion and his younger brother's tearstained faces. Rowan setting his jaw again before looking back at Molly, who's eyes were sharp behind her glasses.

"Okay," Molly said.

* * *

After hearing the story for the thousandth time in the same sombre tone, Harry couldn't take it any longer. He hastily withdrew from a group of old schoolteachers and Seamus' work colleagues and hurried as fast as he could towards the front door. He pounded down the front steps and came to a halt beside a bush of Honking Daffodils that hooted in his presence.

It was worth noting that he was not Harry Potter in that moment—Hermione had carefully transfigured his features to lengthen his nose and change the colour of his hair to a flaming red, presumably to pass as Barney Weasley, Ron's mysteriously re-appearing cousin. It felt dishonest and ridiculous being at a funeral among (mostly) friends, all the while dressed in a disguise.

He clutched the back fence and tried to tune out the honking flowerbed at his feet.

A moment later, Ron was following him out of the house, his face pale against his all-black dress robes. "Mate, what was that?"

"I needed some air," Harry replied cuttingly.

Ron came to a halt beside him, staring out at their lush, green surroundings. His long fingers also gripped the fence. Ron was choosing not to speak, so all Harry could hear was his own ragged breathing.

"I can't listen to that damn story again," he said. It had been devastating enough having to retell it the first time, to the Finnigan family, feeling like daggers were being shoved into his chest as he was forced to put the scene into words. That had been bad enough. The Daffodils continued to honk and Ron gave them a rather unceremonious kick.

"You know, Seamus would bloody want us to retell it until everyone was bored of it," Ron said, his voice quailing with conviction. "He'd be bloody insistent he went down for being the bravest one there."

"I'm responsible," Harry said quietly. He squinted out at the mountains. They were unlike the mountains around England. Much bigger, grander, rippling beasts. Silent and crouching. "I had a feeling that the plan was off but we went ahead."

"We had no choice but to go through with it. They were going to lead those kids to their execution."

"It was my blunders that landed us in this mess. I should've pulled us out or planned things better…"

"We took as many precautions as we could."

"Then it should have been me diving in front of Molly, not him!"

Grief was an old friend. Harry knew it well by this point in his life. He had learnt it very young. Around the same age of Seamus' youngest children. He knew the stages now—in fact, he had fast tracked the first two. He had already gone through the denial and the anger. He was now trapped in the bargaining. He knew that's where grief would get him the most, where it always trapped him. Desperate to get back those who had died for _his_ sake. His parents, his godfather, his friends. Desperate to make up for the deaths he had caused; whether it was Cedric Diggory at fourteen or Seamus Finnigan in his forties, Harry remained responsible. If only he could make it right, if only he could switch places.

But there was no point bargaining. There was no bringing Seamus back. It was done. And Harry would have done the same.

"Seamus was just as involved in this as you are," Ron said quietly. "We're all just as in this as you. We always have been. We know where the risk is, and not one of us would have joined the Order if we didn't think freedom was worth fighting for."

Harry pressed his lips together, gulping back the urge to weep. The horizon became a smudged palette of greens and greys and blues. "Merlin, I feel old."

"Me too, mate," Ron muttered.

* * *

The sixth year prefect compartment was filled with a disgruntled band of teenagers, all of whom were glaring pointedly out the window at the slowly receding platform. The Hogwarts Express had just left the station at precisely 11 a.m. and the new Head Boy and Girl were in the first compartment, giving instructions to the newer fifth year prefects. As Platform nine and three quarters vanished before their eyes, Mary Boot turned to face the tense group and accidentally caught Scorpius' eye.

"You've grown out your hair," she said, the words falling out of her mouth before she had caught up with them. Scorpius blinked at her in surprise. He wasn't the only one. He felt Rose shift beside him to stare openly at Mary, while her prefect partner, Nathan Corner, actually sent her a scolding look. It wasn't as if he was immune to Mary Boot's small talk—they had studied together for a large portion of last year. She had even tried to kiss him ( _tried_ , being a key word). But they hadn't really small talked since, and certainly not in front of their peers. "It looks different," she added when the awkwardness seemed to grow.

Scorpius patted the top of his head anxiously. "I wasn't growing it out intentionally," he said. "I don't think it's that much longer."

"It's because he's not gelling it," Imogen supplied, chipping into the conversation. "And it's naturally wavier, so it looks longer."

"More volume," Caleb Macmillan, the Hufflepuff prefect, agreed. His partner, Naomi Bones, sent him a withering look. In fact, between Naomi and Nathan, it was a surprise that the Slytherins hadn't turned to stone.

"Okay," Scorpius said awkwardly, withdrawing his hand.

He noticed Rose and Albus share a look.

"It's not—it's not that big a change," he added, feeling quite defensive.

"Well, you gelled your hair back for five years without fail, so it is sort of a big change," Imogen said, quite dryly. "In fact, you even look kind of fit, now."

Nathan Corner scoffed, opening his mouth to snap something in response, but the doors opened at that moment. Everyone fell silent again as they hailed in the new Head Boy and Head Girl.

Roxanne Weasley entered first, her face set into an uncharacteristically flat expression. Behind her, lanky and tall and slightly distrait, was Lysander Scamander. He slid the door shut gently behind him, spending a moment fiddling with the latch.

Scorpius wasn't sure what to do with such a pair. Roxanne Weasley was known to be a good student, a good Quidditch player and a good prankster. It's seemed innocuous that she was Head Girl. But Lysander Scamander was not Scorpius' cup of tea. His permanently spaced-out nature and nonsensical assertions drove the Slytherin mad. In fact, it was possible that he preferred the Head Boy's younger twin brother, Lorcan—and that was saying something.

"Hey guys," Roxanne said, trying hard to keep a straight face. "For those of you who, er, don't…who we haven't officially met, I'm Roxanne and this is Lysander."

"Your duties are much the same as they were last year," Lysander said, his wide blue eyes scouting the group. "I've been asked to remind you that you can only take House points away from students in your own house, and when you want to give out a detention, you must write a slip and have it signed by your the Head of House."

"Also, in Alistair and Rebecca's wake, we have decided that the Social Justice meetings that were held last year are no longer mandatory," Roxanne said, a sort of spitefulness to her voice. "And Professor Longbottom has to preside over all the meetings."

"They're no longer mandatory?" Naomi burst out, her face screwing up in frustration. "But that's ridiculous! It's an important way to prepare us all to become active citizens."

"More like indoctrinate us," Rose muttered, glaring at Naomi superstitiously. Scorpius stifled a chuckle.

"As it's not a curriculum approved class, we feel uncomfortable _forcing_ people to go to an extracurricular event," Roxanne said, giving Lysander a discreet look.

"We have the passwords here for the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Slytherin common rooms," Lysander said, unfurling slips of parchment and passing them around. "That's really all we have to say. Does anyone want to volunteer for the train prefect patrols?"

Rose eagerly went to raise her hand but Scorpius clasped it, gently tugging it to her side. "Nope," he murmured, when Rose moved to protest.

They sorted out the roster; Albus and Imogen volunteering to go first while the others worked out shifts that complimented the fifth year's patrols. Scorpius pointedly ignored the icy looks that half the group were sending him. He was used to disregarding those sorts of looks, but found that Rose was stirring restlessly beside him, as if containing the urge to hit someone.

"Alright," Lysander said. "If each of you know your times, you are dismissed."

With that unceremonious response, the prefects shuffled out of their compartment. Most of them were eager to be as far from the Gryffindors and Slytherins as the train would allow, and soon they had halved in number accordingly. As Head Boy and Girl moved onto the Seventh Year's compartment, Imogen and Albus turned to address the Slytherins. "What's with the hostility?" Imogen inquired, raising her eyebrows. "I thought Corner and Bones' heads would explode from death staring you lot."

"Mary was surprisingly…weird," Albus noted.

"Yeah, what was with her commenting on your hair?" Rose asked, turning to glare at Scorpius.

Scorpius stared back incredulously. Somehow, he felt as if _he_ had done something wrong. "Why are you looking at me like that? Its not as if I asked her to comment."

"It just seemed very out of character for her to comment on your new hairstyle, is all."

"Well, _you_ commented on my new hairstyle the first time _you_ saw it so maybe it just inspires that response from people," Scorpius snapped.

Imogen squinted suspiciously at them both. "Are you two a couple?"

Scorpius looked sharply at Rose. "What? Don't be ridiculous."

"Hey! What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"That the idea of me dating you is ridiculous."

"You would be lucky to date me!" Rose turned expectantly to Albus, her hands on her hips. "Well? Aren't you going to defend me?"

"But it would be ridiculous," Albus agreed.

"Don't you see how _offensive_ that is?"

"Oh, shut up, it was a simple question, not a social justice debate," Imogen huffed. "C'mon, we need to go put our bags in our actual compartment. Are you lot coming?"

"Er—actually, I need to have a word with Rose privately about something before I go find Isabella."

"A word?" Rose said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah—I mean…about some matters pertaining to our House."

"Alright, whatever," Imogen huffed, grabbing hold of her trunk and Albus' other arm. "Let's leave these two prats and go dump our luggage. We start our shift in half an hour."

"Okay," Albus shrugged passively. He looked back over his shoulder at the two Slytherin prefects. "See you later."

Scorpius slid the prefect's compartment back open and ducked inside, where both his and Rose's trunks were still stashed along with Caleb McMillian's and Naomi Bones'. In their fifth year, they had both believed that all the prefects (who would unanimously get along) would spend the whole ride to Hogwarts enjoying the private little compartment set aside for them, while bonding over their privileged positions of leadership. This year had only cemented in the reality that they were as far from being friends as possible. As far as Scorpius knew, people only used the prefect's compartment to store their luggage and change into robes when they were closer to Hogwarts.

Which worked to his advantage, considering he needed to get Rose alone for a few moments.

Rose clumsily slid the door shut, swinging down the latch, before pressing her body against Scorpius, who stumbled back into the window with a clatter. Her lips were soft and eager, a sort of desperation propelling her movements. His hands hesitated at his sides, fingers splayed wide in surprise, until they settled onto her waist. She had accidentally trod on his toe. Too startled to move, Scorpius just let her stand on his foot and snog him for a while until his toes began to grow numb. Then, he came to his senses. "Okay—okay," he mumbled between her kisses. He took hold of her shoulders and held her back firmly. "Okay. This isn't what I had in mind when I said I needed a word,"

"What," Rose said, breathing a little heavily, "did you mean then?"

"I—I meant that I needed to have a word."

"Oh…oh. Sorry, I thought that was a code."

"A code for snogging?"

Rose shrugged, as if to indicate that this was a common mistake. She brushed her auburn curls away from her eyes and took a seat. After blinking a few times to lower his blood pressure, Scorpius took the seat beside her.

"About twelve days ago, Selgrut the Sly visited my Dad and tried to buy that cabinet."

Rose's blue eyes became as wide as discs. She nodded her head to prompt him to go on.

"I wasn't there—I mean, it was while my Dad was dropping by the Ministry. But I've had one of our house-elves, Millie, tail my Dad for the last few weeks because I suspected something like this might happen."

"And what _did_ happen?"

"Well, Selgrut wanted to buy the set but my Dad said there was no point—that the other cabinet had been destroyed in the Battle of Hogwarts. When Millie told me about this, I had no idea what she meant, so I did some background reading and discovered that Vanishing Cabinets can create a passage between two places."

"Merlin. That sounds tricky," Rose said, blinking in surprise.

"And the one that matched my Dad's was destroyed during the Battle of Hogwarts. Which meant it used to be in _Hogwarts._ Which means…"

"Selgrut is trying to find a way into Hogwarts," Rose concluded, her face turning pale. "Merlin. Who else would know this?"

"I dunno," Scorpius said, biting his lip. "But I came to that same conclusion. I just don't understand why. If the Ministry wanted goblins in the school—"

"Unless they _don't_ want goblins in the school," Rose said, raising her eyebrows. "Maybe the Ministry isn't interested in that. Al and I figured out a while back that the Elite Squad consists mostly of the Kobold Könige. What if they're trying to act on their own accord?"

"That's sort of terrifying."

"It would make sense."

"That means…that means the whole school could be in greater danger than we even know," Scorpius muttered.

"You sound like Meredith Maxwell," Rose huffed, a little miffed with his dramatics.

Scorpius seized her arm harshly, the pressure in his fingertips there to express his urgency. "But if we're the only two who know about Selgrut trying to get the Vanishing Cabinets…then is the school properly protected?"

Rose's face dropped, her forehead creasing under the weight of this new worry. Right away, he regretted telling her. Rose didn't cope well with serious responsibility. She acted impulsive and panicky. She was likely to concoct wild plans that involved polyjuice or retreating into the Forbidden Forest. She didn't do well when it came to secrets either, and something about this discussion felt like a secret. Having guessed her thought process, he was not surprised that her immediate response was, "We should tell someone."

"I don't think we should."

"We should tell Professor Drummond tonight."

"Okay, let's put all the really bad ideas on the table first," Scorpius said to appease her. "Then we can think up an actual plan."

"I should write home to my parents."

"Do you really think it's wise to put this sort of stuff _in a letter_? Anyone could intercept it."

"We should tell Uncle Neville, then," Rose said, her eyes pooling with worry. "He'll know what to do."

"Professor Longbottom will be furious that we've been sleuthing this out on our own. Do you realise that's what we've been forbidden from doing time and time again."

"Well, what do you think we should do?"

"We should sit with it for a day or two. Figure out whether it's necessary for us to go to anyone. I mean, there are no Vanishing Cabinets in Hogwarts, and it's impossible to Apparate onto the grounds."

Rose seemed even more frantic with this suggestion. "No, we have to tell someone _immediately_. Especially after what happened with the Finnigans."

"What happened with the Finnigans?" Scorpius frowned.

"Haven't you noticed that Angus isn't on the train today?"

"It's not something I'd notice."

"Their dad was killed on an Order raid by the Elite Squad."

This admission took his breath away. He didn't know the Finnigan family well at all, but the idea that someone he knew had their father murdered seemed abject. Angus Finnigan, very quiet and a little weird, was easy to pity. He felt his stomach turn over at the thought of him. For a fleeting moment, he imagined his own father dead, and the thought was too painful to process. "That's…Merlin. That's awful."

"We were at the funeral. I should add," Rose said, biting her lip, "that Angus kissed me for, like, a second."

"Right," Scorpius said, nodding distractedly. "Well, I'm not really going to hold that against him, am I? How did it happen?"

"The kiss?" Rose blinked. "Well, it was literally _just_ a second before he burst into tears—"

"Not the kiss, you silly muppet. His _father_."

Rose loosely recapped the story, as she knew it, about the children going missing and their covered-up Squib status. Scorpius had grown so pale he looked like a sheet of paper. The government paying thugs to execute children seemed just short of genocide, and the idea that the Elite Squad was willing to carry out such acts was disconcerting.

"All four kids escaped?"

"They've smuggled them out of the country. But it won't be the last of this."

Scorpius nodded slowly, ticking over all the reasons he needed to be concerned. He linked his fingers through Rose's and gave them a little squeeze. The entire conversation had made him feel ill. "Alright. Let's leave this until after the Sorting, then we'll tell someone."

"Alright," Rose agreed, very serious. Her thick eyebrows were pulled together. She leaned in to kiss him again, tenderly this time, her fingers softly probing his jaw. They hovered on the borderline of his hair, where it was cut short around the nape of his neck. Scorpius sighed into the kiss, feeling himself melt a little. There was a part of him that was enjoying the distraction she provided—the gentle brush of her fingertips on his skin, the feel of her lips kneading his, the way their breathing just seemed to become shallow and synced—but there was also a rational part of his brain that kept ticking. He ticked over the dangerous position both their families had found themselves in, Rose's in the middle of a battle and his determinedly indulging in moral mercenary. It ticked over the grief that would undoubtedly destroy Rose—because unlike him, she loved a great deal of people and had a great deal more to lose. And it ticked on, relentlessly, over how unwise it was for them to be dating. Especially when she was dodging negative attention as it was.

Rose climbed onto his lap, her legs folded on either side of him so her muscular thighs pinned him to the seat. His hands weaved under her jumper, bunching the loose singlet beneath, as if in an effort to stop her from moving too close or pulling away. The rational side of his brain was beginning to win out, as it always did. When her lips moved from his mouth to his neck, he took the chance to murmur, "We can't do this."

"Mmm?" the sound created a vibration that tickled his throat.

"We can't snog in the Hogwarts Express' prefect carriage. And we can't act like we're dating while we're at school. People will notice."

Rose pulled back, but did not shift from his lap. She seemed expectantly petulant. "We're convincing liars. We convinced Imogen."

"You mean, Imogen doesn't care enough to entertain our denial," Scorpius corrected. Realising that she was refusing to move, he grabbed hold of her waist and moved her off of his lap.

"We convinced Albus, didn't we? He thinks the idea of us dating is ridiculous, remember?"

"That's because it is," Scorpius smiled, adjusting her hair back behind her ears. "I think while at Hogwarts we should avoid being intimate. At least for a while, so no one picks up on anything."

"Honestly?" Rose sighed, looking deeply crestfallen. She even pouted, and he wondered if that often worked for her.

"Just for a while, alright? Surely you can exercise a bit of self-control." Scorpius leaned in to peck her lightly on the lips before grabbing hold of his trunk. "I'm off to find Isabella. I'll see you for our patrol."

"Fine. But I want you to know that I am _very_ unhappy about this."

"I think there are bigger things to be unhappy about."

* * *

Lily Luna Potter had disappeared for a large chunk of the morning, only to return back to her compartment at midday with a handful of sweets from the Honeydukes' Express and a shifty look on her face. She unloaded the sweets into Hugo's lap before taking the seat beside him, opposite her cousin Louis and his Ravenclaw friend, Anisha Bajwa. The four fourth year students lapsed into a focused silence.

In only a few hours, Lily had had a lengthy conversation with the Scamander twins, spied on the teacher's compartment and met up with her cousins to exchange money on their bet for Head Boy and Girl. She had managed to do all that _and_ get food.

"What's new?" Hugo asked, devouring several pumpkin pasties at once.

"Lysander is making the Social Justice meetings optional for prefects. However, he mentioned wanting to start up a bird-watching club."

"That'll interfere with Gobstones," Hugo scowled. It was no secret that Hugo was the president of the Junior Gobstones Club and considered the position to hold the same weight as any Quidditch Captaincy did, despite no one else in the school regarding it as such. All of them were on the team—Anisha and Louis were both quite good at Gobstones and very competitive, proving to be assets. Lily only ever attended because Hugo had bullied her into it. Lysander was the president of the Senior Division, who would occasionally play against the juniors. The idea that the new Head Boy would be prioritising other clubs over Hugo's sole plight and passion in extracurricular was of little consequence to Lily.

"Also, there's a new teacher starting at Hogwarts," she said, hoping to distract the other three.

"What?" Louis retorted, blinking rapidly. "Does that mean someone's left?"

"Dunno. I saw her going into the teacher's compartment. She looks rather young," Lily added, plucking a Jelly Slug out of the pile of sweets. "Very pretty."

"Oh, I hope it's not Professor Sharma who's left," Anisha griped, twisting her t-shirt in her hands. "She's such a good Head of House."

"It _could_ be Sharma," Louis speculated. "She got married a couple years ago. Maybe she's going to have a kid."

"No, that can't be right," Hugo frowned. "She would've stayed up until she went on maternity leave."

"Well," Lily said conspiratorially, lowering her sweet wrapper. "I did hear a rumour that Drummond wants to make Neville the new Head Master. Maybe they hired this new witch to take Herbology?"

"Uncle Neville as Head Master?" Hugo protested. "That would be…weird."

"It was just a rumour," Lily shrugged.

"How is it you always seem to _know_ everything?" Louis asked, raising his eyebrow.

Lily shrugged impishly, brushing her hands over her straight fringe. "I like to collect facts," she said. "So don't cross me, Weasley."

* * *

Albus tended to be friends with everyone—he was amicable and likeable, easy to have a conversation with, rarely judgemental and dedicated to keeping peace. Imogen Abercrombie was not at all like that. She was a loner, and made a consistent effort to be a loner. She didn't have a best friend, nor did she have a group she related to. This didn't seem to bother her at all. She swung between hostile and indifferent like a pendulum.

Still, Albus would consider her one of his friends, even if it was a one-way sentiment. She was one of the people that he wrote to during holiday breaks. He was almost certain that Imogen's only motive for corresponding with him during the summer was her utter isolation from the magical world while she lived with her mother in Manchester, but he was glad to be on what he considered friendly terms.

"I heard about Finnigan," she said as they patrolled the back of the train.

"The papers aren't reporting on it. How'd you hear?"

"Your sister told me when I passed her in the corridor earlier."

"Ah. She can be a bit of a gossip."

They dropped the conversation when they arrived at a compartment full of fourth years mucking around with a Nose-Biting Bottle. The two prefects were preoccupied for a while as they confiscated the jinxed pumpkin juice and reprimanded the students. They returned back to the corridor, Imogen holding the glass bottle.

"Were you at the funeral?" she asked, picking up where they left off.

"Yep," Albus replied, a bit uncomfortable with the conversation.

"I never gave Angus much attention. He was kind of a weird kid," Imogen noted.

"He was okay."

"Not really. He kept to himself, didn't like conversation. Afraid to be called on during class. I reckon he won't cope with his Dad dying."

"I dunno," Albus shrugged. "I reckon people will stick by him if he needs it."

Imogen took the cap off the bottle using her wand, careful to keep her fingers clear of the rim.

"Do you know how he died?" she asked, eyeing him slyly.

"I don't know the details."

"The devil's in the details," she said, holding the bottle high above her and tipping the stream of pumpkin juice into her mouth. The bottle never touched her lips. Albus paused, leaning against the corridor of the train, impressed. She handed the half-filled bottle to him. "If it doesn't touch your mouth, it can't bite your nose."

"Cool," he said, trying it. She watched him. Being watched made him nervous. His balance wasn't as smooth in the jostling train and he split some of the orange liquid onto the floor. Albus sighed, taking a step back and cleaning the mess up with his wand. The mouth of the bottle tried to snap at his hand as he shifted his wand back into his pocket.

"I'm not prying to be insensitive," she added as she took the bottle back off him. "I just haven't had any contact with the magical world for two months. It drives you mad."

"I thought you'd enjoy the peace and quiet," he supposed. In the muggle world, at least, his father was unrecognisable and could walk freely. He and his family wouldn't make it into the society pages of the _Prophet_ or _Witch Weekly._ He would have had a normal life. He envied that Imogen could just disconnect from the magical world at any time.

"Peace and quiet. Sure. Living with my mum and her new boyfriend in our tiny flat. Working at a crappy department store for a bit of extra cash. It's a charming existence."

Albus found himself narrowing his eyes at her. "But it would be charming, wouldn't it? Not having to deal with your parents possibly dying any other day of the week."

Imogen smirked, resting her hip against a compartment door. The glass jostled with the movement of the train. "You don't get it until you live in the muggle world. My Dad died in the 7/7 bombings. He was just supposed to be catching the tube in London and a bloody bomb went off," she said this with force, as if he needed to understand. "Every other week, we have a terrorist scare. You can't go to an airport or a sports arena without thinking, hey, maybe a bomb will go off. Maybe we'll all die today, no reason. We've been used to this for a long time before you lot were."

Albus stared at her, his stomach having relocated somewhere around his ankles. He felt awful. Her tawny eyes glared at him expectantly, waiting for him to further put his foot in it. Nervously, he took the bottle back off her but it was empty now. He just held it instead. "Sorry. Sorry about your Dad too."

Imogen pushed herself off the wall and continued down the corridor. "It's alright. I didn't really know the guy. I only ever saw him at Christmas or on weekends. But I thought it made my point nicely."

She looked over her shoulder and smiled a little bit acidly. Albus hurried to catch up.

"I feel like you toy with me a lot," he accused, a little put out.

"I toy with everyone. You're not special."

"You take the mickey. I'm not stupid, Midge."

She turned sharply then, looking a bit peeved at the pet name. "Like I said, I don't think you're special."

He smiled, in spite of the anger in her eyes, or perhaps because of it. Imogen was usually too indifferent to be angry and he found it highly satisfying. "I remember the first day I met you. It was _weeks_ after we were Sorted. I saw you alone in the common room and came over to talk and you said, _who are you_."

This sudden spurt of nostalgia took her by surprise. "Well, I didn't know you."

"That was the point though. Everyone knew me. Everyone knew me because I was Harry Potter's son, but it was like you were bloody immune to all that. I mean, even the other muggleborns knew who I was because they had gossiped with their housemates. But not you. When I said, _I'm Albus Potter_ , you said, _what, does your father do, make pottery_?"

She snorted. "Then I said, what sort of name is Albus?"

"Right. So you do remember."

"Of course I remember. You _insisted_ on sitting with me despite the fact I wanted to finish reading Hogwarts: A History."

"The point is, _Midge,_ " he said, flapping his hand to disregard her interruption. "You've never treated me as if I were special. And I kind of like it," he grinned, a bit cheekily, and certainly adamant that he had somehow bested her in the exchange. He moved up ahead of her, forcing his prefect partner to catch up this time.

"Maybe I'll need to start treating you as if you're special then," she said, "if that's what makes you mad."

"Maybe," he shrugged. "But I'll win either way."

* * *

Scorpius and Isabella had found an empty compartment early in the morning, and had somehow fended off having others join them. They were lounging on opposite ends of the compartment, feet up on the seats to send the clear message that no one else was invited.

It was not lost on Scorpius that this time last year, he had come storming into a nearby carriage to complain about being partnered with Rose, Zabini and Isabella both ineffectual and unhelpful. Now, it felt like the situation had been reversed.

"You haven't _spoken_ to her, have you?" Isabella inquired surlily.

"Of course I have. She's my prefect partner. What did you expect me to do, communicate in Morse code?"

"In what?" Isabella snapped. She shook her head to indicate that he wasn't to answer that. "I just don't want you being all friendly. You know how manipulative she is."

"Well, am I allowed to speak to Zabini?"

"Definitely not. Don't you understand how this works? You were my friend before you were friends with either of them. So I get custody of you."

"I'm your friend, not your child."

Isabella refused to dignify that with an answer. She spread herself further into her seat, as if puffing up like a peacock, and pretended to be highly interested in her fingernails. Determined to shift the conversation into more pleasant waters, Scorpius brought up O.W.L. results. Isabella brightened at this.

"Well, I did do pretty well. Mostly Acceptables, but I got an E in Charms and Divination. I passed everything except for Care of Magical Creatures, but I'm dropping that anyway."

"That's great," Scorpius acknowledged, relieved to have gotten a more positive response out of her. "Any idea what you want to do after school?"

Isabella shrugged, far more lackadaisical now. "I dunno? Be an heiress I suppose."

Scorpius snorted but decided not to say a word. After all, he wanted to be a Botanist. The irony of working as a hobby was not lost on him.

* * *

"So, what were your O.W.L. results?" Zabini asked as he trotted along the thin aisles of the Hogwarts Express, in search of the food trolley. He asked the question offhandedly, as if the answer was of little consequence.

"Mostly Os," Rose replied, just as nonchalant.

"Mostly?" he snorted a little. "Let me guess, you're disappointed."

Some time had passed, and both Rose and Zabini had changed into their robes. The sky beyond the blurred horizon was smudges of pink and purple, tints of twilight leaking like watercolours.

"What do you want to do after school?" Rose asked in order to divert attention away from herself.

"Well, I did piss poor if you remember correctly. Still, I managed to pass a few subjects so I'll be able to go onto my final two years," Zabini shrugged. "Not that I'll need many N.E.W.T.s anyway. I reckon I'll work at a pub."

"At a pub?"

"Yeah. I reckon that Longbottom bird will have me, she was daft enough to take me in the first time."

"Is a pub _really_ your first option?"

Zabini shot her a scandalised look, mocking the way she was currently regarding him. "Working in a pub is a stable job, mate. Everyone _needs_ alcohol. Goblins, elves, humans—they all want to get pissed every now and again. Forget their troubles. And I am highly qualified to dish out the stuff because I've been on the bottle since I was thirteen."

"What if Hannah won't take you?"

"Then the Hog's Head probably will. You won't have to worry about me. Once I'm seventeen, I'll be set."

"I dunno. A pub just seems sort of…like a back up option, not what you're supposed to aim for."

"What?" Zabini laughed. "Because being an _Auror_ is going to be a sure thing for you? The job doesn't even exist anymore, and it looks like the goblins have the butchering covered."

This unsettled Rose in a way that did seem supremely bizarre. It had been the same response her father had given her when she had first received her results. Zabini was right; working at a pub _was_ a more stable career aspiration, if one could call it that. It was true that the Auror program had been cut and replaced, but she had somehow rationalised its restoration by the time she finished school. The idea was seemingly a little less solid now.

"I suppose we shouldn't think about it so much. We should just enjoy our last two years," Rose said, in way of bringing the topic to a close.

They arrived at the food trolley, bedecked with Honeydukes' full range of sweets. Bright, colourful wrappers covered the trolley like bouquets of flowers. Rose fished around for some gold in her pockets while Zabini extracted a few frugal coins of silver from his wallet. Both were feeling the pinch on their wallets, and for Rose, that was particularly saying something.

"Together we can get the Cauldron Cakes and the Jelly Slugs. That way we can split it," Zabini said, offering up the lesser share of his coins.

"Well, Weasley, it didn't take you long to find a new friend to replace me with, did it?" Rose twitched her head over her shoulder abruptly, catching sight of a pair of dark, angled eyes. She huffed and turned back to the trolley lady to hand over her coins. Still, Alice Lim went on bitterly and persistently as Rose knew she would. "I suppose the dregs of our House are bound to find comfort in one another."

"Who are you calling dregs?" Zabini snapped, spinning around to confront her.

" _You_ , Zabini. Was that not clear? You two deserve each other."

Rose took the sweets and buried them in her pockets before turning around to join André's side. Alice Lim had cut her hair shorter, so it sat just above her shoulders in a perfect bob. Her thin lips were pressed into a thinner line. If they _had_ been on civil terms, Rose would have complemented Alice on her new hairstyle—it suited her, bringing out her high cheekbones—but the bitterness in her mouth clouded the kind words before they could make it out. Instead, she said, "Sod off, Lim."

"Hold on a minute," Zabini said, looking between them both. "Weren't you two mates?"

"Have you been living under a rock?" Alice replied, mimicking his inquisitorial tone.

"We had a falling out," Rose replied stiffly.

"I thought you had a falling out with Isabella," Zabini replied.

Rose huffed in embarrassment, irritated that he was not making the situation any easier. "I've had a falling out with a lot of people, alright?"

"Which isn't surprising," Alice added scathingly. "You can trust Rose as far as you can throw her."

Zabini was genuinely amused by this comment, sizing Rose up as if mentally imagining how far he could throw her. Meanwhile, Rose crossed her arms firmly over her chest and faced her former friend with an unnecessary amount of hostility. " _I_ apologised already, didn't I, Alice? And might I add that I didn't even do anything _wrong_."

"How is that an apology!" Alice cried. A few second years were sticking their heads down the train corridors to check who was arguing. The trolley lady was discretely wheeling her trolley away. Still, Alice was in full force. "You were fine lying to my _face_ when you knew my boyfriend was cheating on me, just because _you_ wanted some peace and quiet for study!"

"That was a _secondary_ reason," Rose said.

"You were just looking out for yourself, which is all you ever do."

"What the hell is going on here?"

Rose turned sharply, feeling first relief, then dread. Scorpius was walking up the aisle, Isabella hot on his heels. Rose was suddenly hyperaware that this situation was about to spiral out of control.

"We were just—"

"We?" Isabella demanded, her brown eyes darting between Zabini and Rose. She was visibly shaking with rage. " _We_?"

Zabini was tight-lipped, and Rose was a little surprised to see genuine remorse mingling with genuine fear. He held up a hand as if to tame a wild animal. "We were just buying food," he said.

"What are you and Weasley doing together— _eating together_?"

"Okay, you need to both disengage," Scorpius said quietly, a stern glare fixed on Rose and André.

"Why should we be the ones to back down when _they're_ picking a fight?" Rose demanded, unable to temper her indignation. Zabini was similarly incensed. He looked less likely to leave than ever.

"Are you and Weasley a _thing_ now?" Isabella snapped, stamping her foot in a ridiculous tantrum-like manner.

"I wouldn't be surprised," Alice snorted derisively.

"All of you need to stop it," Scorpius said cuttingly.

"Did you two ever think that you might owe _me_ an apology?" Rose demanded. Both girls were affronted by the suggestion. Scorpius groaned quietly.

"Yeah," Zabini supplemented. "Or me?"

"No one owes you an apology," Scorpius said, grabbing Zabini and dragging him back a little. "I think it's best if we all just—"

"What's this here?" To Rose's dismay, and subsequently Scorpius', two sets of blue-trimmed robes were walking down the aisle of the train. The urge to abscond was so forceful that Rose considered jumping out of a window. Nathan Corner's handsome face was pulled into a look of contempt. "Is this how Slytherins show house pride? By bickering in the hallways?"

"We were just dispersing—"

"Well, you clearly didn't disperse fast enough, did you Malfoy? I think you ought to dock points."

"I think you ought to lay off, Corner," Zabini growled, twice as menacing and just as burly.

Nathan twitched away from him, audibly gulping. Beside him, Mary Boot crossed her arms and glared at the Slytherins with wariness. She was, at least, a bit more temperate. "Break it up before we have to find a teacher."

"Fine," Scorpius said cuttingly. He turned to both Isabella and Alice, who were wearing similar expressions of antipathy. "I think you two need to find a compartment where you can bask in your mutual loathing of Rose. Zabini, you should go too."

"I was leaving anyway," he said, his eyes on the Ravenclaws. "I don't keep company with prattling gits."

A part of Rose was desperate to leave with the other Slytherins as they sauntered back to their compartments. Instead, she was forced to stay put, staring with some dread at Corner and Boot. She didn't care for them, and yet, she was desperate to wipe the looks of disapproval off their faces. Scorpius stood beside her, as tall and still as a stalk, unmoved by the Ravenclaw's wall of censure.

"You two are supposed to be patrolling now, aren't you?" Nathan asked.

"We're right after you," Scorpius replied, just as stiff.

"It always surprised me who got made prefect for Slytherin," Nathan mused, his eyes glancing off them both.

"Clearly after that _little_ display, there aren't a lot of choices in Slytherin," Mary acknowledged.

"Still, it's sort of sad to think you two are the crème de la crème," Nathan finished, his mouth twisting in a sardonic grimace.

"Watch it, Corner."

"It's not like either of you stood a chance," he sighed. "There's the whole nature versus nurture argument, but you were failed on both accounts, weren't you?"

"Corner," Scorpius said, his teeth clenched.

"I mean," the Ravenclaw continued conversationally, "we have Rose here, whose Dad is a washed-up, unemployed ex-Auror who only ever relied on the fame of his now infamous friend to get by. And then there's your crazy mother, championing rights for elves who have already _gotten_ all their rights. Both of them are stuck like a broken record. It's sort of pathetic, really," he laughed.

Rose gripped her wand. Mary's eyes darted to it nervously.

"And then we have Malfoy, who was never going to turn out normal with his lot. I wouldn't be surprised if you inherited your gutlessness from your Death Eater Dad. Or was it something you learned by watching?"

Corner reeled back, his skin erupting in tiny spikes that caused him to bear a close resemblance to a sea urchin. He cried out in discomfort as Rose lowered her wand, breathing heavily. Mary was staring at her in disbelief.

"Now your exterior matches your personality," Rose said, pocketing her wand.

"Rose…honestly," Scorpius muttered, closing his eyes as if saying a silent prayer.

It was apparent that this had been Nathan's intention from the beginning—to bait Rose into jinxing him. They would surely be in trouble now, and even if she was willing to perform the counter-jinx, Nathan would report this to the Head of his House (Professor Sharma, a witch who Rose respected deeply). Yet, as a gleeful expression spread across Nathan's prickly, cactus-textured lips, Rose's stomach dropped into her feet and she knew things were about to get a lot worse.

"Well," a completely unfamiliar, singsong voice said from behind the two Slytherin prefects. "Could someone explain to me why this boy resembles a porcupine?"

* * *

Rose was now certain this was some sort of elaborate prank, devised by her cousins, and it had gone so far as paying Corner to deliberately bait her into hexing him.

Rose and Scorpius found themselves in the teacher's train compartment, wedged together on a seat, opposite a new member of the staff who had not introduced herself further than, "Call me Stella." Rose was determined to _never_ refer to this woman by her first name, yet, she was aware that this introduction must have been an aspect of her charm. Stella was the sort of woman who was aware that she was charming, and to Rose, this was infuriating.

She looked to be in her mid-thirties and the age suited her. Her satin robes did not attempt to disguise the well-formed, resplendent body beneath them. It was the kind of body that was chipped out of blocks of marble and admired in museums. Her skin was a dark olive and her hair fell in rich brown waves. She had a celestial nose that turned up at the tip and deep, chocolate eyes. But what was most alluring and infuriating—Rose came to this conclusion after a long interval of assessing this woman's physical traits—was the sound of her voice. It had a musical, singsong rise and fall. Every word was honeyed. She spoke in a volume that was just above a whisper; as if with every word she was confiding a secret. Rose noticed herself leaning in on more than one occasion.

Along with her jealousy, Rose's irritation was steadily building. The woman appeared to be as daft as she was beautiful and had not even berated Rose on hexing Nathan Corner. It was almost insulting that her assault had not been worth admonishment.

"It really was a rather tricky jinx. A transfiguration jinx, nonetheless. I was honestly very impressed to stumble upon you performing it. I was never very good with Transfiguration when I was your age. Changing him back to normal took quite a bit of time, and I don't think I managed to remove all the needles. I'm sure that Hannah girl can attend to that. She seemed far more apt at removing needles. Even still, it was a fabulous little jinx!"

"Fabulous," Scorpius agreed faintly.

The witch went on, her breathy voice rising in lyrical sighs. "It was probably the most interesting thing that's happened on here since I first arrived. Although, I sat with Professor Longbottom for a little while. He's just _something_ , isn't he? I wasn't expecting him to be riding the train. But he kept ducking in and out and I couldn't get him alone for a proper chat so I've been rather bored most of today. Say, you look quite familiar," she said, staring at Scorpius.

"I'm—er—Scorpius. Scorpius Malfoy," he said.

They had both introduced themselves after Stella had fronted up with the other two prefects, doing her best to turn Nathan Corner back into something that resembled a human being. It didn't seem she had paid either of them much attention at the time.

"A Malfoy. Why, of course, you have those lovely grey eyes. From the Black's side, I suppose. And I think you said you were a Weasley?" she added, looking at Rose.

"Yes," she replied, slightly flippant. "Rose Weasley."

"And both of you are Slytherins? That's just marvellous."

"Marvellous," Scorpius repeated faintly, glancing at Rose.

"It really was _such_ a clever little jinx," the witch sighed, smiling at them both a bit dreamily. The sky was dark now, and buildings were whizzing by the blurred horizon. They were close to Hogwarts. Rose was still waiting for the penny to drop; for this witch to sigh and propose that a month's worth of detentions would be the right price for such _a clever little jinx_. Or perhaps she would be stripped of her prefect position. She gulped in anticipation.

"So, what inspired you to do it?" the witch asked.

"Er…what?"

"I'm sure that boy had done something to deserve being turned into a sea urchin," the witch prompted.

"He was…erm, insulting our families," Rose said, her face pulsing with heat. Scorpius cleared his throat nervously.

"Now, why on earth would he do that?" the witch scowled.

Both Scorpius and Rose shared a bemused, side-long glance. Neither could tell if this woman was being facetious or not. Scorpius chose to answer, as he had a greater capacity for tact. "Er, well, neither of our families are very popular, as you can imagine. And he…well, he doesn't really like me very much because we won the Quidditch Cup last year. And he doesn't like Rose very much because she dumped him last year. So, I suppose—"

"You dumped him?" the witch said, her sparkling eyes fixed on Rose. "So, it was a crime of passion!"

"You could say that," Rose mumbled.

"Well, that makes _perfect_ sense," Stella said, smiling with contentment. The train was beginning to slow down. A sense of radical disbelief was sweeping through Rose. She had been certain that they had both been taken to the teacher's compartment for punishment, or a scolding at the very least. They were about to arrive at Hogsmeade and the penny had yet to drop.

The compartment screen slid open abruptly, banging against the frame, and Professor Longbottom stood in the doorway with a murderous look on his face. His eyes found Stella first, then the two guilty students who turned sharply to look at him.

"Do you have any idea what Hannah has been doing for the last half an hour?" he said, his voice as venomous as one of the tentacula he was growing in the school greenhouses. "She has been painstakingly removing those needles one by one from Corner's skin. _On a moving train_."

"Oh, so my counter-jinx didn't work?" Stella frowned, looking quite disappointed. "I was never very good at Transfiguration."

"You two," Professor Longbottom said, his usually attractive face now stormy with rage, "will collect your belongings, go up to the school and wait inside my office. Understood?"

"Understood," Rose and Scorpius chorused together.

Professor Longbottom snapped the screen shut behind him, leaving behind an air of foreboding. Stella turned to them with a delighted expression. "He really is a dreamboat, isn't he?"

* * *

Perhaps it was punishment enough being locked in Professor Longbottom's office with this daft, glamorous new witch that insisted they call her Stella. The rest of the school would be down in the Great Hall, enjoying the Sorting, while Rose and Scorpius were conspicuously holed up in a room awaiting their penalty.

"I know you were the one to find us," Rose said, glaring at Stella as she began to sort through Professor Longbottom's things, "but you honestly don't need to be here with us. You can go ahead to the feast."

"Rose," Scorpius hissed, throwing her a look that was supposed to remind her that this was a new teacher.

"In fact, I do need to be here," Stella said, smiling warmly as she picked up a photo-frame to examine. "You see, I'm the new Head of Slytherin House."

Both Rose and Scorpius' faces dropped. "What?" Rose murmured, her lips almost white. "You're the new—"

"The new Head of Slytherin, yes," she said with a dulcet smile. She replaced the frame with a clatter. Instead, she began to look through a pile of old essays. "I was a Slytherin, back in the day. Way back in the day," she chuckled, tossing her hair. "Back when old Sluggy was still running the joint. Do you remember Professor Slughorn?"

"Er…yes, I suppose. I mean, we never had him. He retired a while ago."

"Yes, well, Slughorn knew how to run the show. We still keep in touch, actually. He sends me a Christmas card every year," she said this with a note of pride, coming to rest against the desk with her legs crossed. "He had this adorable little club—the Slug Club. Oh, we loved it. I don't suppose Hogwarts has anything like that now, does it?"

"Er, no?"

Rose was staring at this woman as if she was personally offended. Scorpius, on the other hand, seemed deeply intrigued. "I think my mother was in that club."

"Was she _really_? I wouldn't be surprised. What's your mother's maiden name?"

"Greengrass," Scorpius supplied.

"Oh yes, I adore the Greengrasses! I think Astoria was finishing school when I was starting. Do you know the Nott family very well?"

"Yes," Scorpius said, quite amused. "We're good family friends."

"I dated one of the Notts, back when I was in school," she said with an impish little laugh, fluttering her hand as if to communicate the transience of that experience. "It was Theodore's youngest cousin, not Edgar…Elliot, I believe."

"That's Isabella's uncle—that's to say, a friend of mine. Edgar is her father."

"Oh, yes. I remember Elliot's big brother, he's quite a marvellous businessman. Married a girl named Pansy, I believe."

Rose was gaping at Scorpius, unable to comprehend where this side of him was coming from. It was as if he had grown a second head.

"It's the funniest thing. I've only ever dated pureblood wizards—not that it really matters to me—it just seems to be the circles I run in," Stella confided. It was mortifying that a staff member was confiding such personal information so nonchalantly. "I sometimes think I should date a muggleborn just to prove a point, but I've never really met a muggleborn who was interested in me. Perhaps I just seem to be more suited to a certain sort of culture. Speaking of which, the Longbottoms were always quite a respectable family. They were on the Sacred Twenty-Eight, you know?"

"I did," Scorpius said, nodding astutely.

"And that Professor Longbottom really _is_ something, isn't he?"

"He's married," Rose said shortly, glaring at both of them with as much muted contempt she could muster.

"What a shame," Stella said with a mordant wince. "He really is a dreamboat."

It was then that the dreamboat in question arrived, storming into the room with some of his previous anger still bubbling at the surface. He looked at both Rose and Scorpius with one sweeping glare, then back at Stella, who was leaning against his desk with a blithe smile.

"Both of you are in a _lot_ of trouble," he heaved. "You're prefects! You _know_ that Corner will look for any reason to have your privileges stripped."

"Oh, you can't hold this against them, Neville," Stella said, stepping in with some concern. "It was a crime of passion."

"A-a what?"

"Nathan and Rose are ex-lovers, and he insulted her family," Stella interceded. Scorpius almost choked on his own saliva. "It was simply a crime of passion."

Professor Longbottom looked as if he was postponing a nervous breakdown. "For Rose, all crimes are a crime of passion."

"Well, you can't take points from her for being passionate," Stella laughed.

"Honestly, Professor, Corner was looking for a fight," Scorpius said.

"I heard the whole thing," Stella fibbed, sending Scorpius a sly wink. "He really was being despicable."

Professor Longbottom glared at a hideous cactus on his desk for a while, watching it pulsate slightly in the low light of the fire. Rose wondered if the cactus had triggered the memory of Nathan's hideously prickled face.

"I think neither of you should be allowed to play on the Quidditch team this year," he decided.

" _What_?" Scorpius crowed. "I didn't even throw the jinx!"

"It was literally _just_ a jinx," Rose said, equally as outraged.

"Would you prefer it if I take away your prefect positions?"

Scorpius opened his mouth as if he were about to concede that he would, but then snapped it shut again. Unsurprisingly, Stella took this moment to intervene.

"I appreciate your input as the Deputy Headmaster, Professor Longbottom, but I think the jurisdiction of discipline lies with me as their Head of House."

"It's your first day—"

"Regardless of my lack of experience, I was once a student myself, and I am keenly aware of what is considered appropriate or inappropriate behaviour. I can punish them accordingly."

Professor Longbottom seemed genuinely stumped by this response, having (like Rose) regarded this new Professor as if she were as stupid as a Blast-Ended Skrewt. She was now examining the two sixth-years under sparklingly eyes. "I think a month's worth of detentions, every Saturday and Sunday, will be fitting for having jinxed a boy with a mildly discomforting spell."

"I don't think you're aware of how often Rose loses her reason," Professor Longbottom began.

"And I think that you are far too personally invested in these students to make a rational decision," Stella replied sharply. "So, before you strip them of their privileges for simply jinxing someone, I suggest you take a moment to consider how you would respond to this situation if you didn't favour one student and were basically related to the other."

Both Slytherin sixth-years held their breath. Professor Longbottom took a step back, as if injured slightly. He glanced at both Rose and Scorpius, shamefaced and unable to find words. He was concerned and beaten, and Rose knew why; because one of his closest friends from _his_ schooling days was now in the ground and death was often something that met the irrational and ill-tempered.

It wasn't as if Rose was going to go looking for a fight with the goblins. She was just shitty with Nathan Corner.

"Alright. I'll leave it up to your discretion then," he said, turning back to the younger Professor leaning against his desk. "I suggest we get back down to the Feast as soon as possible."

"Marvellous," Stella said with one curt nod. The Deputy Headmaster sighed heavily and left the room, but Stella hesitated by the door and smiled at her two troublemaking students. "Don't worry. I'm not actually going to give you a detention," she said, with a bit of a wink, before trotting to catch up with Professor Dreamboat.

"What the _hell_ was all that about?" Rose said, shaking her head slowly. "That witch is totally barmy. _She's_ the new Head of Slytherin?"

"She saved our arses," Scorpius supplied, "so I wouldn't call her barmy."

"And what was that about _you_ and your Sacred Twenty-Eight toadyism."

They both left the office, picking up the pace now to return to the Great Hall, where the aroma of beautifully cooked meals floated through the air.

"It's called flattery and charm, Rose, and it happens to get you very far in life," he replied.

"How did she know about us being close to Neville?" she added, still looking for a reason to dislike her. "It's her first day. She doesn't even know us."

"I bet those essays she was rifling through were all mine," he answered with a jaunty shrug. "And anyone would know that the Weasleys are close friends with the Longbottoms."

Rose huffed, pushing the doors open to the Hall. Several heads turned to look at them. The Feast had already begun. Rose and Scorpius hurried to their seats. It was lost on her that the new Professor had joined the teacher's table at the front of the room.

"Just admit it, you don't like her," Scorpius said as they slid into their seats.

"Oh, I have no problem admitting _that_."

* * *

The first years who had joined the Gryffindor table had settled in excitedly sampling the food. James had managed to convince most of them to try the bat's liver pies, saying that the filling was actually mince meat. His usual manic tendencies were had escalated more so than usual, and his eyes were heavy with bags. He kept piling food onto other people's plates or picking on the first years, as if fumbling to find a succession of distractions. He was only distracted when his Head of House entered the Great Hall once more. "Who's that new bird coming in with Uncle Nev?" James asked, half rising in his seat to inspect the witch in satin robes.

Roxanne looked up before returning to her lamb chops. "Dunno. Must be a new teacher."

"Oh good," Albus sighed, his eyes on the other side of the room. "Rose and Scorpius are back."

For the Slytherin prefects were quick to slip in after their teachers and find a place at their own House table.

"Did you hear that she turned Corner into a sea urchin?" Imogen laughed, slopping pumpkin juice onto the table. "Merlin, that girl's good for a laugh."

"I hope she's not in too much trouble," Albus frowned.

"That's her!" Lily piqued up from a few seats down. She nudged Hugo in the ribs and pointed. "That's the new teacher."

"Merlin," Hugo said, his jaw dropping slack. "You didn't say she was some sort of temptress."

"Temptress?" Lily snorted, stifling her laughter with a bread roll.

"What? That's what Dad calls those sorts of women."

"Stop being perverts," James said, grabbing hold of the back of Hugo's head and nudging it towards his plate. He then leaned across the table to catch Lorcan Scamander's attention. "Oi, looks like we have a new teacher starting. And she's fit."

Lorcan looked up sharply. "Pranking material?"

"I reckon. I wonder what subject she's taking?"

"Hagrid isn't up there," Lorcan said. "Maybe it's Care of Magical Creatures."

"Merlin, imagine what we could do with a Niffler during one of her classes."

"You're either thick or in denial," Roxanne said, pushing her now empty plate away from her. "Have a proper look at who's missing this year."

However, before James could respond, or even closely examine the teacher's table, Professor Drummond was getting to his feet. His purple robes swept behind him as he made his way to the pedestal for a speech. As always, they could expect him to be direct and to the point. Drummond did not waste time on flowery words. He got through the precursory announcements in about a minute, then moved onto more important matters.

"As many of you know, we are living in dangerous times. For this reason, the school's security has been tightened. Wards have been placed around every exit and we will be checking packages that enter the school by post. Secret tunnels and passages are also being monitored. Those who break the rules or break curfew will have to deal with strict repercussions."

James deflated in his seat, looking a bit peeved with this little preamble. Meanwhile, both Albus and Lily looked somewhat relieved.

"Finally, we must welcome a new member of our staff. Professor Stella Bellucci will be assuming the Potion master's post. As an alumni Slytherin and a pioneer in experimental brewing, she will make a fine addition to our staff."

Stella Bellucci stood to give the hall a little wave, and the audience responded in awkward, scattered applause. James sat up a little straighter. The penny had final dropped. He looked at his fellow seventh years with alarm. "Does that mean—"

"This comes in the wake of Professor Turpins' retirement. I'm sure you will make Professor Bellucci very welcome."

"No," James howled, his hands in his face. "No, _no_. Turpins _retired_?"

"I can't believe you're this upset," Roxanne said, raising an eyebrow. It was a well-known fact that James had made their previous potion master's life hell for several years.

"My whole Graduation Prank was _planned_ around Turpins. What am I supposed to do now?" James collapsed onto the table, his arms folded over his head. "I have to re-plan everything."

"No wonder he retired," Hugo muttered.

This was not the first teacher James Sirius had scared off either.

"I want to also address existing tensions now before issues at Hogwarts escalate," Drummond said, his voice echoing through the hall. He looked exhausted behind his stern expression, the creases in his brow far more defined. "I am aware that the student body may be divided regarding the politics of our wider community, particularly those in their upper years. I ask that you do not allow these divisions to cause ill feeling and radical behaviour among your peers. This is a _school_ , not a Wizengamot council. I think it wise if we all heed the Sorting Hat's song this year and remember that our four Houses united bring strength to our community. Now, I hope you all enjoy your dessert and go straight off to bed! All of us wish you to be well rested for your classes."

The desserts replaced the main course, not as abundant as usual but just as sweet.

"Brilliant advice, isn't it," James muttered, dragging a custard tart from the nearest platter and putting it on Lorcan's plate. "I'm sure we'll all be well rested."

* * *

The Slytherin Dormitory was comforting. Bottle green drapes hung between the glass windows, half-hiding the perfectly inky green lake. It was their natural aquarium. Rose thought about everything living behind the glass. It was too dark to make out any creatures in the murky lake. Without pausing for too long, she moved on to the girl's dormitories.

Her sixth year roommates had already found their beds. Each went about unloading their belongings. The air felt stale, not because of what anyone had said, but because no one was saying anything. Rose peeled off her robes, showered in their bathroom and then changed into an oversized Chudley Cannons jersey that had once belonged to her father. Wearing this single shade of violent orange, she returned back to the muted, green dormitory and slipped under her sheets.

To her annoyance, she noticed Alice sitting on Isabella's bed, talking in a low voice. Rose glared at them before drawing her curtains shut around her bed, resuming instead to glare at the ceiling.

"Any thoughts about the new Potion's teacher?" Sonia said.

There was a bit of an awkward pause as both Alice and Isabella stopped their hushed conversation. In the past, Sonia (a vivacious if somewhat vapid gossip) had always had her conversations with Estelle, her former best friend. Estelle didn't respond—if Rose remembered correctly, she was the common denominator in all her roommate's arguments. She had managed to ostracise herself perfectly, as if backing into checkmate without realising. Sonia had revealed that Estelle had slept with Tim Buckingham, therefore burning that bridge entirely. Alice had been _dating_ Tim Buckingham at the time, which meant that she was far more hostile than usual. And Isabella had always kept her distance due to Estelle's prior engagements with Zabini.

In short, Sonia had no one to strictly talk to. Estelle definitely wasn't responding.

And neither was Rose, in all frankness.

"She's…alright," Isabella said after some hesitation. "She was wearing very expensive robes. Not sure how she can afford them."

"How much?" Sonia asked, hungry for information.

"Well, they cost as much as a Firebolt if that's any indication," Isabella laughed coolly.

This time, Alice responded. She sounded irritated. "How would you even know that?"

"I saw the same robes in a catalogue and wanted to buy them," Isabella sighed. "But they would've cost me an arm and a leg and my Dad cut my allowance."

Alice huffed and Rose smiled maliciously, glad they couldn't see her behind the curtains. Alice and Isabella were radically different; there was no way their friendship would be lasting very long.

"She came in with Professor Longbottom. I didn't realise he had ducked out after the Sorting until he came back in with her," Sonia gabbed. "They're both ridiculously attractive, it's sort of a joke. Why get a teacher's salary when you could model?"

"I'd hardly say Professor Longbottom could model," Alice scoffed.

"He is dreamy though," Isabella interceded. "And certainly good looking."

"He works in Herbology. He smells like manure ninety per cent of the time," Alice argued in a light, offhanded tone.

"As if! He has that whole rugged but sensitive vibe."

This debate, although a popular one in Hogwarts, was always something Rose and Alice had held in contempt. Neither of them fancied Professor Longbottom, often finding the attention he received from both their male and female peers quite amusing. There had been a point in third year where most of the girls in their year group had been in love with him. Rose was certain that Alice's face was screwed up in contempt, even if she couldn't see it.

Sonia was palpably feeling left out of Alice and Isabella's apparently exclusive bubble. She piqued up persistently again. "You disappeared with them both for a while, didn't you Rose? What were they like?"

Annoyance sparked at the sound of her name and the mention of her experience with Professor Bellucci. She grabbed her wand from under her pillow and swept her curtains aside.

"Look, Selwyn," she began, terse and firm. "Just because Alice and Isabella are suddenly the best of mates does not mean that we will strike up some sort of doting friendship. I'm not going to _gossip_ with you about some new teacher. We all have classes tomorrow, and I reckon we'd all do well with some rest, so maybe we should get to that."

Sonia looked incredibly embarrassed, hastily creeping under her sheets. Estelle was smiling smugly at the ceiling. Alice and Isabella was still sitting sharing a bed. Rose pointed her wand at the gas lamp on the table and lit it, before aiming her wand at the glowing, green ball that floated in a glass bowl above them. With a flick of her wand, she extinguished it, plunging the room into the soft light of the lamp. She closed her curtains once more and rolled over. She fell asleep to the sound of Isabella and Alice's petty whispering.

* * *

She hadn't been asleep for very long at all when a beam of narrow wandlight was pointed between her eyes, trapping her in a moment of stunned consciousness like a rabbit in headlights. She considered rolling over and just going back to sleep, but the seventh years weren't having any of it. One of them grabbed Rose's shoulder and shook her roughly. "Get up, Weasley."

Why use wands? She had left the gas lamp on before going to sleep. It occurred to Rose that they had probably extinguished it upon entering the room, purely so they could use their wands like torches. Was it practical? Of course not. Was it dramatic? Yes. And if the last six years had taught Rose anything valuable, it was that Slytherins loved dramatics.

"Get up, Weasley," one girl repeated, the light of her wand casting her face in ghoulish shadow.

"Sod off," Rose muttered. "Tomorrow's the first day of classes."

"If you want us to scare you, we will."

Rose stumbled out of bed, grabbing her wand from under her pillow. "You're wearing slippers, Zelda," she replied flatly. "I dunno how scared I'm supposed to be."

Her insubordination was not met with the usual threat or jinx as it had been in her younger years. Instead, she was marched out of her room and up the girl's dormitory. She was being led to the common room, which was both strange and daunting. Of course, stranger things had happened on this nightly procedures.

The seventh year boys were gathered in the common room, and Scorpius was among their number, his wavy hair slightly more unruly than usual. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and glanced Rose over. "Nice jersey," he said, his sarcasm thick. Rose rolled her eyes and sat beside him. Green oil lamps illuminated the room on nearby desks, spilling light across the carpet.

It occurred to Rose that she only knew the names of a handful of the seventh years around her, mostly the boys. The girls she knew by face, but her interactions with them had always been at a minimum. Zelda was only familiar by name because she was the prefect in the year above Rose. There were, of course, the boys from her Quidditch team—the promiscuous Tim Buckingham and the wassailer Jonathan Sterling. She knew the male prefect, Savvas Demitriou, a flamboyant boy with a big, beaky nose. And the last of their number was Tiberius Gallo, a hulking young man with a heavy forehead and thick curly hair. He was sitting quietly by the edge of their ring, knees tucked against his chest.

Having decided their number had assembled, Zelda withdrew a small, leather-bound notebook and addressed the group.

"The contents of this meeting must be secret. We have met tonight with dual purposes—to prepare our successors and establish the two Fag-masters of our house."

Rose stared at the little, black notebook, wondering where she had seen it before.

"We can't tell you explicitly what we do," Zelda added, looking at the only sixth years present. "But you should know that we are the protectors of our fags and responsible for their good conduct, according to our little black book."

"Well, they've had a funny way of showing that in the past," Rose muttered.

"We're trying to restore things," Gallo added softly.

"Restore," snorted Buckingham. "As if that's fair."

"It's what's right," Gallo insisted.

"I'm utterly lost," Scorpius added, half raising his hand. "Would you mind back-tracking and explaining things?"

"All we need you to know," Gallo said, "is that you two are being appointed our junior masters. We want you to keep an eye out on the younger Slytherins. We want you to report back to us if there are any issues."

"But there is another matter to deal with," Zelda said, laying the notebook down. She looked around at her fellow seniors. "Last year, we were told who would become fag-master. Edgecombe and Corner chose myself and Gallo—"

"Except that Corner expressed that he would prefer _me_ ," Buckingham said, crossing his arms edgily. He threw Gallo a hostile look. "But Louisa overruled him."

"Well, what they decided is the Law in Slytherin, isn't it?" Rose asked, giving Tim Buckingham a fleeting look. "You can't contest it."

"But we can," an Indian girl spoke up, and Rose attempted to remember her name without success. "According to the rulebook, we can contest it on our first night as seventh-years, if we put it to a vote. And we need two impartial witnesses to vote along with us."

"Which is why we need you to help us decide whether Gallo gets to keep the position, or whether it goes to Buckingham," Zelda finished.

Clearly, Buckingham was committed to usurping Gallo. To have called this meeting and insist that they vote seemed to insinuate he would win.

Scorpius was drawn into sudden concentration, gazing into the fire with the same face he wore in Potions. Rose looked between both boys nervously. Gallo, unwieldy and duck-footed, was a bit of a nerd. He lacked what Rose believed was leadership qualities. But under Buckingham, Rose was certain that Slytherin's tyranny would continue. Especially if he was Travis Norton's favourite.

"How would you lead differently?" Scorpius asked.

"I wouldn't," Buckingham said, sounding aggrieved. "I would learn from the leaders before us."

"Right, more torture and bullying, then," Sterling scoffed, rolling his eyes at Rose as if sharing a personal quip.

"Think about it," Buckingham insisted. "We all got the same treatment growing up. We all had to deal with a bit of hazing, it taught us to stay on our toes. To toughen up. To respect the seniors. Do you some sort of Hufflepuff love-fest will get us respect from the younger kids? They need a healthy dose of fear."

"I think fear is probably the weakest way one can inspire leadership," Scorpius said dryly.

"But how's it fair," Savvas interrupted, gesticulating with one hand. "The firsties would get it too easy. We all had to cop crap growing up in this House. I copped it more than most. Am I not allowed to then dish it out?"

And Rose saw the appeal of this. Because she, too, had copped a lot of crap in her younger years. She had been bullied for sitting with her family, she had been forced to eat food off the floor in front of her peers, she had endured endless challenges in the dead of night. She had lived in terror of her seniors. It seemed unfair that she had gone through this to get to the place of seniority she now possessed, but the younger years wouldn't. That they would have it far easier than she would.

"We need to put it to a vote," Zelda said. Her eyes scouting the group. "All in favour of Buckingham?"

With hesitance, a few raised their hands. A couple of the girls. Savvas as well. Rose hesitated, but kept her hand down. She saw the twist of displeasure in Buckingham's face. Clearly, he had expected some loyalty from his Quidditch mates.

"And for Gallo?"

Scorpius raised his hand, followed by Sterling and Zelda. The Indian girl raised her hand also, and Rose followed too. Zelda nodded with pleasure. "Then we are the new fag-masters. Weasley and Malfoy, you can return to bed. We have duties to return to. Remember, you are forbidden to speak about this meeting."

Rose and Scorpius stood, the formality of the event undercut by the fact they were both in pyjamas. They nodded once to their seniors and headed back towards the dormitory stairwell.

Rose didn't veer off to the girls rooms as she usually did, but stopped to speak to Scorpius on the landing instead. Her barefeet felt cool on the stone ground.

"Does this mean we're it for next year?" Rose asked, balancing on the balls of her feet nervously.

Scorpius was keeping a careful distance from her. He was at least three feet away. He crossed his arms self-consciously, as if to put more of a barrier between them. Rose wondered if he had come to anticipate that she would always try to snog him.

"I suppose. Which would be a good thing, I reckon."

"That little black book—"

"Louisa had it last year. It must be filled with the rules. They consulted it after Norton sent the boys into the girls rooms."

"That's right. It must be passed down then."

"I suppose," Scorpius nodded.

They both paused again. Rose considered bringing up Gallo, and what it meant to have him as a leader instead of someone who fit the Norton profile. But the urge to talk about petty Slytherin politics was not strong enough to take precedence. Instead, she said, "We've been charged to look after the little ones."

"Meredith Maxwell will be thrilled," Scorpius said, smiling impertinently.

"It makes me think we need to tell Professor Longbottom about the Vanishing Cabinets sooner rather than later," Rose said.

Scorpius grimaced. He nodded nervously. "Right. I don't know how pleased he'll be to hear we were spying on goblins after today's fiasco."

"Corner had it coming to him," Rose snapped.

"I agree with you completely," Scorpius sighed, running his hands over his head. "I suppose we'll tell him within a few days, once things cool off."

"Well…"

"We know the Vanishing Cabinet was destroyed. There isn't any way for the goblins to get into Hogwarts," Scorpius reasoned. "We will just be telling him as a precaution, so it can wait."

Rose nodded. The entire day had felt exhausting, even without confronting the issues beyond Hogwarts' walls. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and delay the arrival of morning.

"I wonder how having Gallo and Zelda as fag-masters will change things," Rose said, rubbing her eyes. "Maybe we'll actually be able to get some uninterrupted sleep."

"I doubt it," Scorpius laughed. "I'm wondering what we'll be like as fag-masters."

Rose looked up sharply, before she also began to laugh. "Quiet reading time _all_ the time. A rule about never speaking to the seventh years unless you're a seventh year."

"I like that," Scorpius agreed.

"And we get the best seats by the fire, of course."

"Of course," he agreed. With a wry smile, he padded back towards the boy's staircase. "Don't go hexing any boys before breakfast."

"It's not my fault I have so many former lovers," she said, with a bit of an eye roll. With a final smile, she also returned to her dormitory, and this time she was able to fall asleep without interruption.

* * *

 **A/N:** A shorter chapter than I've done in a while, but still eventful. Hopefully you got your fix of our next gen protagonists. I'll deal with the fallout of chapter five in the next chapter, so don't fret if there wasn't enough Tedoire + Order business in here :)

Read and review! I worked extra hard to meet the two chapters a month deadline haha.


	7. Chapter Seven

—CHAPTER SEVEN—

Rose was quick to rise early the next morning, if only to escape her dormitory before her roommates woke up. She ducked around Sonia just as she was coming out of the bathroom, and managed to brush her teeth and get downstairs before the others were dressed. All Slytherins were arrogant—she was certain of this, it was somehow the flaw to their otherwise positive characteristics. They were all far too arrogant to admit defeat, to send up the white flag, to surrender the meaningless fight that no longer had a cause. The days of ducking and weaving around offended ex-friends were well in full force, but it was nothing Rose hadn't endured before.

These great lengths to avoid drama were futile; upon reaching the Great Hall, she was met with the sigh of Slytherin's new Head of House presiding over the teacher's table. She fell heavily into a seat beside Scorpius, who was already enjoying a croissant.

"That big-headed bint is still here," she muttered, sending up a furious look at their new Potion Master. If a Slytherin had ever embodied arrogance, it was Bellucci. She oozed success and superciliousness as if it leaked from her skin.

"I wouldn't be so scathing," Scorpius said. "I read her textbook last night. She's actually quite brilliant."

"Right. And Professor Hagrid is going to join the ballet," Rose hissed. She grabbed a platter of pancakes and started stacking them onto her plate. Scorpius stared at the increasing pile dubiously. It could have fed a small army.

"She saved our skins last night and for all you know she might be a good teacher."

Rose was hardly convinced and there was little Bellucci could do to change her mind. She turned away from the glamorous new addition to the staff table and back to her boyfriend.

"If today wasn't bad enough, I now have to deal with Bellucci in Potions."

"What's the matter?" Scorpius frowned.

Rose shrugged.

Clearly, something _was_ the matter and Scorpius was left trying to read her mind to decipher the issue. Luckily, he was quite good at reading minds. "Is it the other girls in your dorm?"

"Bunch of petty little princesses, if you ask me," she grumbled.

"Still haven't made up then?"

"Still not taking defence?"

"Still harping on that?" he replied, cocking an eyebrow. "Honestly, darling. You know I won't ever need it."

"You can't know that you won't _ever_ need it. And don't call me darling just so you can woo me into submission."

"Think about it," he tried again, stretching out his long, bony fingers as he presented his thesis. "Why would I _need_ to defend myself when _you_ can defend me?"

Rose grunted, cutting up a chunk of her pancake and wedging it into her mouth. Scorpius smiled while he poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice.

The moment didn't have a chance to develop. Meredith Maxwell had seen the two prefects alone over their breakfast and slid over with her plate. Rose groaned. She was feuding with all the girls in her dorm, and on top of that, she had to deal with Meredith Maxwell feeling the polar opposite. All the women in Slytherin seemed to be irritating her, from the youngest to the eldest. She cast their Head of House another scathing look before glancing at the perky second-year sitting directly opposite her.

"Good morning," Meredith chimed, taking the jug of orange juice off of Scorpius and filling up a goblet. She beamed at them both, making her look mousier than ever. "I saw the noticeboard this morning. I can't wait for Quidditch try-outs!"

"That was already posted?" Rose frowned, having rushed down so quickly she never even glanced at the board. She grimaced at the young girl's eager face. "Er, Meredith, maybe you shouldn't get your…"

"Yes," Scorpius said, reflexively pinching Rose's arm under the table to stop her look of incertitude. He knew how to navigate Meredith with a bit more tact. "Do you want to try out?"

"I would love to!" Meredith leaned over the table to express her point more eagerly. Rose shifted back. "Could you imagine how close we'd all be if we were playing Quidditch together? Going to practices every week?"

"Well," Scorpius said, his tone cautious, "it'll be a hard spot to fill. You haven't had much experience and it's rare for a second year to get in."

"I can train!"

"We won't have the time to train you from scratch considering our first game is in November."

"I'll help her practice this week," Rose decided.

Scorpius sent her a look. He had been trying to offer her an out, a kind way to shut down Meredith's enthusiasm without getting too involved. Bizarrely, she had jumped right on into it.

"Really, Rose?" Meredith gushed. "You don't know how much that means to me. We can meet in the mornings before class if you like, or before your prefect patrols. Whenever suits you, I'm happy to meet up whenever suits you best!"

"Sure, whenever you want," Rose replied, wielding her knife like a baton.

Scorpius sat up rather abruptly as a group of girls entered the Hall. "Belle's here. Sorry but I have to ditch you now," he said, grabbing his plate and sliding well down the bench until he was at the end of the table. Rose sighed heavily and resumed eating her pancakes, resting her head against her palm as she chewed slowly. She and Meredith watched Isabella and Alice walk over to Scorpius and take a seat on either side. Something pressed hard against her chest, as if a bomb had been packed inside the cavity where her heart was supposed to sit.

"Are you okay, Rose?" Meredith frowned, staring at her intently. "You're glaring at Scorpius."

"Perfectly fine," she replied coolly. "How about we meet up after classes and I'll teach you how to toss the Quaffle."

Meredith was professing her gratitude but Rose was already distracted again—Professor Bellucci was descending from the staff table like a swan, moving over to the Slytherin table in graceful strides. Rose watched suspiciously as she neared the end closest to her, where her roommates and boyfriend sat. Scorpius sat up a little straighter, almost eager. Rose slowly raised her eyebrows, unable to mask her expression of utter derision.

"Hey Red. Hey Mousey," Zabini said, falling into the seat beside Rose. She twitched towards him in greeting, but refused to look away from Bellucci. She was now chatting to Alice, extracting a piece of parchment and a wand.

"What do you two think of the new teacher?" Rose asked.

"She seems nice," Meredith replied, her standard optimistic response.

"She's a tidy bird, isn't she," Zabini remarked, leaning forward to assess her. "Definitely has that going for her."

"Don't be a wanker."

"What, like girls don't say the same about Professor Longbottom," Zabini scoffed.

"It's true," Meredith said, eyeing the Herbology teacher at the table. "All the third year girls say he's dishy."

"You're all mad. It's just the teacher effect."

"What?" Zabini asked.

"You fancy them because they're the only adults around that aren't elderly, bearded men who stand in front of chalkboards all day. If you saw them in the real world, you wouldn't give them a second glance."

"No…" Zabini said slowly, squinting at Bellucci as she made her way up the table. "I reckon if I saw her in public I would still think she's fit."

Rose leaned onto the table, glaring mutinously at the new teacher. It wasn't long until she had reached their little cluster.

"Good morning, doves," she said, smiling warmly at both Zabini and Rose. Rose struggled not to pull a face at the sound of the endearment. "Just sorting out the sixth year's timetables."

"Right," Zabini sighed, running his hands over his face. "Well, I don't have all that many O.W.L.s. which might prove problematic."

"Let's sort it out together," she said, taking a seat beside him and pulling out an empty timetable. Stunned to see a teacher sit at a student's table, Rose blinked a few times before turning away and catching Meredith's eye. They both shared a bemused look and the younger girl had to suppress a giggle. Rose snorted and pursued her pancakes more vigorously.

"I'm not trying to be insensitive Mr, er…Zabini," Bellucci said, finding his O.W.L. results on the chart in her hand, "but what were your career aspirations after school?"

"I'd like to work in a pub," he said, with a bit of a crooked grin.

"A pub?"

"Yes. Serving alcohol."

"Oh," Bellucci said brightly, placing the papers aside. She turned to face Zabini, whose thick lips were pursed expectantly. "Well, that should be fine. You'll only need basic Charms. Of course, you're eligible for Muggle Studies, Transfiguration, Astronomy and Care of Magical Creatures. That's enough N.E.W.T. units to carry you through your final years of schooling."

"So, I couldn't take Potions instead of Muggle Studies," he said, and Rose could have sworn he was pouting.

Stella Bellucci seemed to be refraining from laughing. "Why would you need Potions as a bar tender, Mr Zabini?"

"I dunno, mixing drinks, mixing potions. Knowing your brewing," he said, raising his dark eyebrows. "It seems connected. You'd have to agree, wouldn't you Professor?"

Meredith slapped a hand over her mouth. Rose let her jaw fall open. Professor Bellucci remained utterly cool, with nothing but a smirk to show her flattery. "Hm, well, despite your _compelling_ argument, Mr Zabini, I only take the very best N.E.W.T. students in my classes. They must have an O in Potions to be accepted into the course, and you only got an Acceptable."

"If you had been my teacher last year, I'm sure I could have given you that O," he smouldered.

"Okay," Rose said loudly, sliding her plate away from her. "Since you've finished Zabini's timetable, why don't you have a look at my application, Professor?"

Stella Bellucci licked her lips and suppressed her smirk, returning to her paperwork in order to mask her amusement. Zabini sent Rose a crippling look, which she returned without hesitance. Rose knew she would be cleared for her application. She had topped their year in several subjects. She stabbed some bacon furiously, shovelling it into her mouth.

"Well, Rose, it appears your application is fine. You have remarkable scores," the new Professor said, consulting her list. She looked back up at Rose with her big, brown bambi eyes. "May I ask, what do you want to do after school?"

"I—I pwan on bein an Aurawr." She responded with a mouth full of food and a haughty glare.

"You realise they're no longer running the Auror program."

"Sure," Rose scowled, swallowing hard. "But by the time I graduate—"

"You know, you would be an excellent Hit Witch. Your Defence mark is highly impressive and the Ministry always needs new Law Enforcement personnel. _Or_ you could be a Curse Breaker! I mean, you're taking Ancient Runes and it's a very active role."

"Right," Rose said heatedly, pinching her timetable out of the witch's slender fingers. "I'm sure I'll figure it out."

"If you ever need some career guidance, be sure to find me," she simpered, before moving onto the next student. Rose was fuming.

"Meredith, go eat breakfast with an age appropriate audience," Rose said through gritted teeth. Sensing her mood, Meredith grabbed her plate and slid down the table to join fellow second-year Betty Fink. Rose turned heatedly to Zabini. "What the hell was _that_?"

"Potions is hard, I get it, but Muggle Studies is lame. I was hoping I could have switched."

"Potions and Muggle Studies aren't on the same line anyway. What I meant was what the hell were you doing _flirting_ with Bellucci?"

Zabini shrugged, a mouth full of bacon and a look of nonchalant bewilderment on his face. His amber eyes flickered back towards their new Professor. "What? I'm pretty, Rose. Not smart. _Pretty_. I use what skills I've got."

"That was _despicable,_ " she hissed, gathering up her schoolbag and climbing back over the bench. "And if that bint wasn't so keen on having her ego stroked, she should have given you a detention."

She didn't spend any longer at the Slytherin table, too infuriated with Zabini to remain seated beside him. She excused herself and sought after Albus, who had just received his timetable from Professor Longbottom. Without a word, the cousins swapped timetables. Albus looked immediately pleased. "Brilliant, we have double potions together."

" _Double_?" Rose said, her voice high. She saw the slot on Albus' timetable and sighed. Their first two lessons on a Monday morning. "Merlin, kill me."

"We also have Defence. Too bad about Herbology though, you're with the Hufflepuffs and I'm with the Ravenclaws."

"It's not an ideal world," Rose agreed.

Albus looked up, jarred by her aggression. "What's with you?"

"I _hate_ Bellucci."

"Likewise," James half yelled from his spot down the table, leaning across Lucy Bird to join their conversation. "Because of her, Turpins is gone forever!"

"Turpins is gone forever because of _you_ ," Albus replied. He responded to Rose's bewildered look with a shrug. "He's mad because he misses torturing Turpins."

"At least Turpins never flirted with the students," Rose grumbled. They retrieved their own timetables and Albus picked his bag up from under his chair.

"C'mon. We need to get to Potions."

"Why so eager?" Rose asked, pursing her lips.

"Well…I, er, am sort of keen to meet this Bellucci character. Everyone's had so much to say about her already."

* * *

It appeared that everything everyone had already said had not adequately prepared Albus for the first Potion lesson with Professor Bellucci. In fact, Rose was certain that no one could have been prepared for the first lesson of their new Potion Master's class. The small arrangement of students—compromising of the select stream capable of doing N.E.W.T. Potions—arrived to find Professor Bellucci sitting on her desk, legs crossed. _On_ her desk, not _at_ her desk. Rose found this distinction incredibly important.

"Merlin. She has a nice set of pins," Albus acknowledged, blinking in a dumbstruck sort of way.

Scorpius skidded to a stop beside him, causing several Ravenclaws to accidentally pile up at the door.

"Pathetic," Rose hissed, shrugging her bag onto her shoulder.

"Is there a reason we're all gawking?" Mary Boot spat, walking around the boys and taking a seat at the front of the room. The others drifted in behind her. The tables were grouped into little islands. Rose chose to sit with Mary Boot, and both Scorpius and Albus joined them. Despite that fact she had never gotten along well with Mary, Rose was gratified that the Ravenclaw had exhibited a reasonable response to their new teacher. (Also, she needed to avoid Alice Lim, who had just entered the classroom and taken a seat with Nathan Corner, of all people).

"What's this?" Mary said, picking up a conical flask filled with a yellow-white potion with a reflective surface. Rose looked around the Dungeon, noticing that flasks filled with unusual liquids occupied each table.

"That," Professor Bellucci said, rising from her desk, "is a question I should be asking you, Miss…?"

"Boot," Mary said shortly.

"Boot?" Bellucci repeated, her bambi eyes widening in recognition. " _Boot_? As in, Terry Boot of the Wizengamot?"

"My father."

Their teacher hesitated. She gave a petty little laugh and corrected herself. "I heard he's no longer on the Wizengamot, though." She said it candidly enough, but the comment felt barbed.

"No," Mary said stiffly.

"Too bad, that."

Stella Bellucci crossed the dungeon, her leather boots clacking across the stone. Every head turned to follow her. When she stopped in front of their table, she wore a smug look.

"Can you identify that potion, Miss Boot?"

"I'm guessing it's Amortentia," she said, a little bit clipped. "Based on the mother-of-pearl sheen."

"And Mr Malfoy," Bellucci said, turning to him. Scorpius snapped to attention. "What does Amortentia do?"

"It's a love potion. The most dangerous love potion in the world."

"Excellent. You can each take ten points apiece," she said, winking at Scorpius slyly. She moved onto the next table and pointed at Nathan Corner, who sat up nervously. "You—the boy who looked like a porcupine yesterday. What's in your potion?"

As Corner and his tablemates began to argue as to whether their flask contained a Volubilis Potion or an Elixir to Induce Euphoria, Rose's table all leaned towards their own flask.

"Let me take a whiff," Albus said, picking it up and inhaling the potion deeply. "Mm."

"What do you smell?" Rose asked, curious.

Albus' green eyes flashed towards her merrily. "Freshly mowed grass, grandma Weasley's chicken roasts, the smell of blown out birthday candles and sandalwood."

"Strange combination," Scorpius noted.

"Any of those scents ring any bells?" Rose smirked.

"No," Albus grinned, sliding the flask over to his cousin. "Because I'm not in love with anyone. And I've never met anyone who smells like blown out candles."

Rose refused to take the flask and Scorpius seemed determined to avoid it as well so Mary picked it up instead. She gave it a small whiff.

"Breadsticks, old parchment and some sort of herb. I'm not sure…"

Rose reached over to snatch the flask out of her hands. She could smell the smoky-sweet odour of scotch and the smell of salt water. But she couldn't identify the last scent. In fact, she could only smell two.

"What's yours?" Albus asked.

"I can't…are there usually more than two scents?" Rose asked, inhaling more deeply. "I can only smell two."

"Maybe you're too emotionally stunted to experience love," Albus suggested, pulling a face.

"If you can't even identify the Potion, I'm not sure why you're here," Professor Bellucci chided, sweeping back to the front of the classroom. Nathan Corner had gone quite red in the face. Bellucci shook out her silky robes and faced the class, as if preparing for a recital. "It troubles me how much you have all relied on textbooks to get your answers in the past," she said, her singsong voice rising like a ballad. "It really isn't the best way to learn. Potions are about experimentation and improvisation. They require _imagination_."

"What," Scorpius muttered, his face bleached of colour.

"For those of you who don't know me, I'm Stella Bellucci, award winning academic publisher, three-time winner of the Most Potent Potions award and recent recipient for the Gold Medal for Ground-Breaking Contribution to the International Alchemical Conference. I was also voted _Witch Weekly's_ most Enviable Witch of the Year," she said, wrinkling her nose impishly. "But pointing that out would just be boasting."

"Merlin help us," Albus murmured, caught somewhere between amused and mortified.

"I don't want any of you thinking of Potions as a set of instructions read out of a book. I want you to all begin thinking outside the box, experimenting and apply theory through trial and error. This is how we learn best."

Professor Bellucci pointed at the three different flasks at the three separate tables. She smiled coyly.

"From time to time, we will do class quizzes. You won't be graded on them, so there's no need to fret, but I would definitely say they are worth your while," their Professor began to pace down the aisles between their desks, her heels clacking on the floor. "Those who show the most skill will receive a prize. Today, each group has an hour to figure out what is in their Potion, _without_ opening their textbook. In the second hour, I would like you to individually write up a set of instructions that could be used to recreate the Potion. The one who gets the closest to the correct formula will win this," with a flourish of her wrist, she pulled something out of her sleeve and held it up. It was a phial filled with a bubbly grey potion that resembled a dour fizzy drink.

"What is it?" Imogen Abercrombie called from her seat, starting Damian Lee out of his stupor.

"It's an Invisibility Potion," she said, smiling cunningly. "Incredibly tricky to brew and worth the effort to get it."

Rose was suddenly intently interested in the task. She could do an awful lot with an Invisibility Potion. The opportunities to spy on people and creep around the school were endless. Not to mention how handy it would be to get _out_ of the school with such a potion. She was so excited that she almost felt sick.

"You are working under the clock, so I suggest you begin working right away," Bellucci crooned, clacking her way back to her desk. "That's if you want to win."

They had a little less than an hour to figure out how to identify what went into this potion, and Rose could guess by their variable responses that smell was not going to help. It seemed impossible.

"Nacre," Mary said, looking up at them all.

"What?" Rose asked.

"Mother of Pearl," Scorpius breathed, nodding slowly. "Of course. That's the key ingredient."

"Nacre is?" Rose murmured, glancing at Albus.

"Nacre is another name for Mother of Pearl," Albus said, glad to know something Rose didn't.

"Naturally it's the key ingredient, it's what gives the potion it's colouring," Mary supplied, scrambling to find some parchment to jot this down. Rose had never seen this serious girl so excited.

"Pass us the Potion, please," Scorpius said, holding out his hand. Albus slid it towards him. Scorpius carefully held it up to the light. "There's a sediment at the bottom that looks like Powdered Moonstone and I'm certain it's been used."

"We can test its acidity by creating a separate litmus mixture, that may give us more of a sense of what we're dealing with," Albus suggested.

"Great idea," Scorpius said, getting to his feet. "I'll grab a few ingredients and a cauldron."

"Er, is there anything _I_ can do?" Rose asked, raising her eyebrows.

Scorpius hesitated, his hands on the back of her chair. "Erm…why don't you write down the ingredients on that piece of parchment?"

Rose stared at him, too irritated for words. Both Albus and Mary hastily looked away.

"What?" Scorpius said, genuinely confused.

"No, that's fine," Rose said bitingly. "I think I will do just that."

Scorpius headed to the storeroom while Rose snatched the paper and quill out of Mary's hands, aggressively scribbling across it. Albus hesitated nervously.

"Did you have an argument with him?"

"No," Rose snapped. "Although I probably _will_ later on."

"Well, we do need a scribe," Mary said, in what was the worst attempt at patching things up that anyone could have made. Furious, Rose seized the flask again, determined to make something of it, to prove herself useful somehow.

She noticed, with a start, that she could smell some sort of strong herb from the potion that she had not noticed before. Combined with the earlier scents, the aromatic substance seemed to make her feel drowsy the more she inhaled it. She found that her breathing deepened and that the seductive scent of the potion was filling her like a drink. She opened her mouth to suggest basil or sage as another ingredient but then snapped it shut, remembering that Mary had earlier stated that she smelled something herb-like in the potion, too. Rose took another big whiff. She could still identify the unique scent of scotch and saltwater, but the aromatic smell of herbs was mixed into the aroma now, where it hadn't been before. She was certain that she had only smelt two scents.

"Albus," Scorpius said, settling the cauldron on the table and scattering fungi across their table, "extract the dyes from these lichens and get started on the solution."

He slid back into his seat and took the glass flask off Rose, using his wand to carefully extract a thin coil of dust out of it, which he then settled across the table. "That's the moonstone powder. I'm sure some of it dissolved, but how many ounces would that be?"

"Dunno," Albus said, hastily using his wand to work on the lichens.

"Er, it would probably be two whole moonstones grounded," Mary guessed. "Would you mind handing me back that potion?"

"What?" Scorpius said, distracted in his frenzy for information. He glanced at Rose then at the potion in his hand. "Right. Right, sure," he said, sliding it away from the two of them.

With the flask out of her reach, the smell of scotch and the saltwater dispersed, but the herbs remained. Rose turned sharply to look at Scorpius. She hadn't noticed the third scent because he had been sitting right next to her, and she had almost become accustomed to the bitter earthy smell that always clung to his clothes. Scorpius scratched his delicate nose, oblivious to the fact that he was letting off an aroma that was literally intoxicating to the girl beside him.

He glanced at her nervously. "What?" he said.

Rose blinked a few times, rapidly and stupidly. She looked back at Mary Boot, who was stirring the flask with her wand. Mary, who had also smelt herbs. "Nothing," Rose replied harshly.

Scorpius lowered his voice, inching towards her slightly. "This isn't because I told you to be our scribe, is it?"

"No."

"I just thought you'd do better observing us."

"Would you like a shovel for that hole you're digging?" Rose snapped. She softened slightly when she saw his earnest grey eyes. "No. It's not that. I'm happy to scribe."

She wasn't. But that wasn't what was bothering her. They both pretended to be doing their work.

"I could smell vanilla," Scorpius said quietly.

"What?" Rose said, twitching towards him.

"Vanilla. In the potion."

"Well, maybe you really like vanilla."

"I don't."

"Cool. More paradoxes for me to figure out," Rose muttered.

He hesitated, but shook his head and turned away. Rose wondered whether Mary Boot smelt like vanilla perfume, or whether Scorpius was secretly in love with the house-elves who cooked his vanilla infused desserts at home. She scribed down whatever the others told her and didn't bother to ask any more questions, too surly to participate in a task that was beyond her natural skill-level.

In the second hour, their competition grew more intense. They were no longer competing against the three other tables, but competing against their own tablemates as each of them struggled to determine the best formula to recreate their potions. Rose was certain that Professor Bellucci's self-indulging little speech about experimentation, improvisation and imagination was supposed to inspire her, but her blank page was hardly inspiring. Everyone around her was scribbling furiously, crossing things out and rewriting instructions. Professor Bellucci trotted up the aisles of the tables like a swan, appearing to almost glide through the air if it weren't for the click of her shoes. She glanced over people's shoulders, making little _hmmphs_ of approval whenever she passed Scorpius. Rose was growing more frantic, brushing her loose curls away from her face so she could work. She had a feeling her recipe would turn out a poison, not a love potion.

"Times up," Bellucci said, coming to a stop at the front of the class. Everyone hastily finished their last sentences before turning to face her. She smiled at them all blithely, her plump lips stretching to her dimples. "I'd like to start by congratulating you all by rising to the challenge. Marvellous work, really. I hope you realise that this exercise was not about constructing a textbook set of instructions. It was about ingenuity."

She began her pacing towards the group on the far left; Nathan Corner's table. Rose had refused to look their way, because Alice Lim was among their number and those two together would not bode well for her.

"This group failed from the outset," she said, resting on the back of Corner's chair. The four students looked at their teacher, outraged. "You identified your potion wrong. This is not an Elixir to Induce Euphoria. It is a Volubilis Potion."

Imogen Abercrombie, sitting the next table over, barked with laughter.

"How were we supposed to know that, Professor?" Nathan demanded, unable to accept defeat. "Both of those potions are odourless and both are the same shade of yellow. We had no option but to guess!"

"Wrong," Bellucci chorused, simpering at her student. "Can anyone explain to Mr Porcupine how he could have correctly identified the potion?"

Scorpius raised his hand. "They just needed to try it."

"Yes," she said, smiling passively. "Ten points to Slytherin. You see, Mr—er, Corner, I believe? You see, both of those potions are harmless. You could have tried your mixture to test whether it raised the volume of your voice or whether it caused a sensation of euphoria. None of you thought to experiment though, did you?" she tapped his head patronisingly before moving on. If Rose wasn't so set on her opinion, this alone may have redeemed Bellucci in her eyes.

"Our next team was able to identify the Polyjuice Potion quite easily," she said, smiling happily at Imogen, Damian and a Hufflepuff Rose had never seen before. They all looked quite pleased with their sets of instructions. "Better yet, your formulas are all quite creative. Of course, you've each mentioned that the Key Ingredient is something that contains the essence of that person whom you wish to transform into—a hair or a fingernail suffices—yet you have all left out something important."

At this, the group faltered slightly, glancing back over their instructions to check what had been missed. Bellucci smiled. "It's a silly mistake, but a significant one. None of you have mentioned how long this potion would take to brew. There's no estimated time for brewing, which makes your attempt noteworthy but not satisfactory."

Finally, she rounded the table to approach the final group. "You all identified that you were working with Amortentia and by far went to the most effort to extract ingredients from the mixture. _Truly_ , all of your instructions are inspired."

At this, Mary, Albus, Rose and Scorpius all sat up a little straighter. Bellucci leaned over, touching Scorpius' instructions. "Mr Malfoy has almost created a perfect formula to brew Amortentia. He added rose oil, which is not the textbook method, but is an inspired addition. So, for this reason, I'm awarding Scorpius the prize."

A look of absolute pride burst across Scorpius' face and he pressed his cherub lips together to keep from smiling. He self-consciously brushed his hands over his school robes. Rose glanced at his neatly written instructions.

She should have been the one to win this. She was _good_ at improvisation, where Scorpius wasn't. This should have been her redeeming moment in Potions, her fresh start, her clean slate. But Scorpius' face was shining and he was struggling to conceal how truly pleased he was and Rose couldn't begrudge him his success. The class began to scrape back their chairs and clean up their workspaces. Rose grabbed her bag before grabbing Scorpius' shoulder. "Well done. Are you ready to go?"

"Impressive work, Scorpius," Mary said, smiling at him tauntingly. "That rose oil trick was quite clever."

"Well, I try," he said, failing at modesty quite spectacularly.

"Yeah mate, you blew us out of the water," Albus added, packing up the cauldron.

Rose sighed heavily and readjusted her bag. "Scorpius?"

"Oh, Scorpius," Bellucci chimed, crossing the room hastily as students began to depart. "Don't forget your Invisibility Potion! Well earned."

"Thank you," he said, accepting the small phial. Two splotches had risen in his cheeks, flushing his pale face. "I'm sure I won't get up to too much trouble with it."

"Well, I hope not. It will only last half an hour or so anyway," she said, with a small smile. "Not much in that phial."

Professor Bellucci made her way back over to her desk and Scorpius moved to follow. Rose hastily grabbed the strap of his bag to stop him. "Scorpius? Are you coming with me or should I head to Charms alone?"

"Er, go ahead," he replied distractedly, glancing behind him. "I have to have a word with Bellucci."

"Right," Rose said, chewing her lip to stay quiet. "I'll see you later then." She watched him sprint back over to the desk on his long, unwieldy legs. She huffed and turned away, glad to be leaving the Potion Master's classroom, even if it was without her boyfriend. "Why would I need to win an Invisibility Potion when I'm invisible anyway?" she muttered, but there was no one left to hear her.

* * *

Rose sat with Zabini in Charms, as he took the empty seat beside her without question. Rose had been saving it for Scorpius, but when he arrived (just as Professor Flitwick was climbing up onto a stack of books to see over the heads of his students) Isabella beckoned him over. Of course, to avoid suspicion, Scorpius had to side with Isabella in the Slytherin girl's drama. He had to act as if he and Rose were merely prefect partners and Quidditch teammates. It still bothered her though. He was performing his role very convincingly, while Rose was struggling to sit across the room from him.

Zabini was suspicious of her agitation. "What's with you? Was Bellucci that bad?"

"Yes," Rose muttered, grateful that she had a reason to gripe. "She's awful. She made us do this horrible little competition. We had to write up the formula for a Love Potion without using the textbook."

As soon as she said this, she regretted it. Her face flushed with embarrassment. "Sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Don't apologise," he said, lazily opening his Charms textbook.

"I know it's a sensitive topic," she said carefully, lowering her voice.

"Do I look like I'm going to have a cry and moan about my mum drugging my dad?" Zabini turned to her sharply, toying with his short, thick wand. His amber eyes were as unclouded by sentiment as ever. "I'd just remind you to keep your mouth shut about it."

"Right," Rose said, also opening her textbook.

It seemed counterintuitive not to talk about it. The story was tragic, for both Zabini and his father, and his decision not to share it with Isabella made no sense. If Isabella knew that Zabini could physically not love someone, she would surely forgive him. The entire debacle would be over and Rose would reclaim a peaceful dorm, no longer loathed for her part in all of this. The only reason that he would swear Rose to secrecy was his fear that his reputation would be dismantled by other people's pity. And if there was one thing Zabini was, it was arrogant.

They had to fall silent in order to observe Professor Flitwick's instructions. The good thing about Charms was it was noisy enough to carry out a conversation without anyone listening in. Once they were split into pairs and practicing their Aguamenti Spell, no one cared how much they spoke.

"Who won the competition?" Zabini asked, pointing his wand into the goblet they were supposed to fill. He wasn't having much luck.

"Malfoy of course," she huffed, glaring over at him. "Bloody knocked it out of the park. Spent a while chatting to Bellucci afterwards, too."

Zabini scoffed, adopting a tone of mock outrage. "Honestly. Spends a few weeks in Paris, grows a few inches over the summer, gets a new hairstyle and suddenly the bloke is acting like he's king shit. He needs to be brought down a few notches."

Rose grinned, managing to produce a trickle of water from her wand.

"I'm not kidding," he added, turning to face her. "What if I put maggots in his slippers?"

"He wears slippers?" Rose said, genuinely stupefied.

"You're not still into him, then?"

"Of course not," Rose sighed, correcting the grip on her wand. "He's still the same pretentious little twit he was since first year. I've moved on."

She repeated " _Aguamenti,"_ with the correct wand movement and managed to generate a jet of fresh water, which filled her goblet nicely. Satisfied, she placed her goblet aside.

"Does that mean I stand a chance?" André said, admiring her goblet.

"Er, I've moved on from you _too_ , André."

"You have no idea what you're missing, love."

"I'm not interested in snogging someone senseless," she said, which was blatantly a lie, because the amount of furtive looks she was sending Scorpius were sure to betray her. "And I can't imagine you're much good at anything else."

He pretended to look hurt. "That's hardly fair. I'm a very good shag, Rose. Very."

"Oh, stop it."

"I am. And don't tell me you weren't jealous this morning when I was flirting with Bellucci. You had eyes for me."

Rose began to laugh, turning to meet the smouldering amber eyes that must have broken the hearts of so many girls she knew. She could imagine that André Zabini _was_ a good shag, at least, in comparison with most seventeen year old boys. But to say it outright was almost disconcerting.

Scorpius could be arrogant. He enjoyed false modesty because it led to praise, and he was stubborn and proud. Rose knew this, for she was much the same. Scorpius was arrogant because of his wealth and his privilege, and Rose understood this, too, because she had grown up with a comfortable existence embedded in her parent's fame.

Zabini didn't have any of those things. He was not clever or rich or privileged. Still, he was one of the most arrogant people she knew. His brand of self-assured cockiness was a direct result of his sex appeal, ingrained into his psyche since puberty. He had a worldliness and a sexual prowess that was unmatched amongst their peers, and Rose knew that if he were like this at seventeen, he would be far worse at twenty-five, or even thirty. He was cocky, in the very essence of the word, and it was as amusing as it was arousing.

Rose wasn't having any of it. "Your charms don't work on me, Zabini."

"They don't, eh?" he turned his wand on her and managed to produce a perfect jet of water that hit her in the face. She sputtered, whipping at her eyes, water dripping onto her shoulders. "Dunno Weasley, looks like my charms can get you pretty wet."

Rose grabbed the goblet she was using and tipped it over his head. Professor Flitwick came scrambling down the aisle, but before he reached them, they had already used their wands to clean up the puddles around their desks. With a disgruntled look, he retreated back to the front of the classroom. Zabini grinned, blinking some water out of his eyes.

"You shouldn't tease me so much," Rose said, lowering her voice. "Isabella's sending me daggers."

Zabini grunted, glaring over his shoulder. "Whatever. I'm sick of her at the moment."

"She's still not over you," Rose said, surprised to find herself defending Isabella.

"She should get bloody over me then. I dunno what else I can do to make her give up."

"She's hurt," Rose said, filling her goblet up with water again. "She's…"

"She's stuck-up and spoilt," Zabini finished, looking deeply aggrieved. "She thought she owned me because she did me favours and pretended to be my only friend."

"She was your only friend," Rose corrected.

"A friend doesn't ditch you the moment they realise you don't want to date them," he said bitterly. There was truth in this, and Rose had to concede (no matter how harshly he had rejected Isabella) that Zabini was right. "And anyway…she wasn't my only friend. We're friends, right?"

Rose pulled a face, grabbing a textbook and syphoning the water out of the pages. Class was almost over and everyone was beginning to pack up their goblets. Rose glanced over at Scorpius, where he was chatting to Isabella, his hair falling in white waves like sea foam. He ran his fishbone fingers through it. He was so far from her, and not just physically.

"Since we're friends, mind sitting with me at lunch?" Rose said, still staring at Scorpius.

Zabini noticed. He sighed, troubled.

"As if you'd need to ask."

* * *

At the end of a very long day, in which Rose was forced to partner with Zabini or Albus in whichever classes they shared, the dejected Slytherin retreated to the common room to collect her shiny-eyed protégé. Meredith Maxwell was sitting with a few second years, on the carpet in front of the fireplace, working on some homework. She dropped everything when Rose arrived.

"C'mon," she said. "We're going down to the pitch."

"Oh my God, this is so _exciting_! Alright, I'll see you all for dinner," she said primly to her friends, the same girls who had ostracised her the year before. Meredith left her bag with Betty Fink and hastily followed Rose to the passageway, almost knocking the Slytherin grandfather clock over in the process.

"Do you think I stand a chance as Chaser?" Meredith gabbled, keeping on Rose's heel as they walked towards the ground floor.

Rose grunted in response. She wasn't sure why she had volunteered to do this. She wasn't sure why she had a grudging sense of affection for Meredith Maxwell. But she did. Maybe it was because Rose was a little arrogant, and enjoyed the way that Meredith followed her around like a Disciple.

"You know, I'm the best flier in my year. _The best_. So I think I stand a chance. I know I'm only twelve but I could fly rings around half the team if you give me a decent broom."

Maybe Meredith was a little arrogant too. Rose smiled.

The pitch was cool at this time of the afternoon. The sun had dipped low, so that the stands cast the pitch in long shadows. Rose retrieved a Quaffle from the shed and had Meredith stand a few metres away from her.

"Let's start with a basic chest pass," Rose said, thinking of the drills Scorpius hammered her with in the first few weeks of training. "Keep your arms outstretched to collect the rebound."

They began passing the ball back and forth. The hard leather made a rhythmic smack against their skin, keeping pace with their heartbeats. Surprisingly, Meredith was able to focus and her throws contained force.

"Hang on," Rose said, coming around to stand behind her. She placed the Quaffle into her smaller hands. "You need to make both your hands in the shape of a W behind the ball. Like this, see?"

"Right," Meredith said, adjusting her thumbs. "Got it"

When their throws began to get quicker, more accurate, Rose took several steps back. The mindless concentration made her feel at ease for the first time in ages. It was like the ball was hypnotising her into a stupor. "Oi," Rose called. "No chicken wings! Tuck your elbows in."

Meredith hastily did what she was told.

They ran through every basic drill Rose could think of. Underarm passing, overhead passing, give and go passes, until soon Rose's arms were feeling tired. A sheen of sweat layered Meredith's face. She pulled off her jumper and tied it around her waist. "Can we take a break?"

"Scorpius never lets us take breaks," Rose replied. "Let's go back to doing a few chest passes as a warm down."

Meredith moved towards her, the Quaffle under her arm. They picked up the rhythm of their basic throwing again.

"You're good," Rose said, providing the first positive feedback she had given all practice. "Really good. A natural, in fact."

Meredith beamed. She caught the Quaffle and sent it back with such force Rose almost missed it. "It'll be nice to have another girl on the team with me."

"You mean it?" Meredith said, her voice brimming with admiration. "It would be so cool to play with you guys. It's all I've wanted to do since I first saw a broomstick in Diagon Alley."

"Scorpius would be stupid not to give you a chance."

Meredith caught the ball and paused. "What's up with you and Scorpius anyway?"

The ball stung Rose's palms as she caught it.

"What?" she said quickly, returning Meredith's throw.

"It just seems like…"

"Like _what_?"

"Like you have a crush on him."

Rose caught the Quaffle and froze, holding it between slack fingers. She shook her head. "What gives you that impression? I've barely spoken to him today."

"I dunno," Meredith shrugged, lowering her hands. "The way you talked at breakfast. It's like the way my parents talk."

"Your parents must have some serious marital issues then," Rose said drily.

"I'm just saying," Meredith said, smiling a little. "It seems like you have a crush on him."

"I _don't_."

"But you're blushing."

"Maxwell, do you want me to throw this ball at your skull?"

"Why are you so defensive, huh?"

Rose gripped the Quaffle so tightly it made the joints of her fingers hurt. Meredith was wearing a smug little grin, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She decided that no one could be as arrogant and self-satisfied as a twelve-year-old Slytherin. Rose threw the Quaffle back at her as hard as she could, and it slipped right through Meredith's fingers and hit her in the stomach. "Go pack up the Quaffle. Practice is done."

Rose was walking off the pitch by the time Meredith had gotten enough air back into her lungs for a reply. "All I'm saying is you're _blushing_ , Rose!"

"I'm always blushing," Rose yelled back, without turning to look behind her.

* * *

Rose ate dinner alone. She sat far down the end of the table, among a bunch of fourth year Slytherins, and ate in silence. Scorpius sat at least fifteen people away, on the opposite side of the table. He also sat alone. Rose watched him, self conscious of how much she was watching him. She wore everything on her sleeve, all her emotion as easy to read as the potion he had dissected that morning. Scorpius, on the other hand, was a closed book.

Returning to Hogwarts had put some sort of wedge between them. The boyfriend bubble she had been floating through during the Summer had burst quite unceremoniously on the first of September. Now, Scorpius was hardly even speaking to her. With so many people around them, Rose had never felt so far away from him, or so alone.

She spent some time at the library, getting through her homework, determined to return to her dormitory right on the curfew mark so she could avoid her roommates for as long as possible. When she did finally make it down to her room, exhausted by a busy first day back at classes, she found a black invitation laying on her quilt, propped up against her pillow. It was covered in small, glittering stars and writing in a silver embossed typescript.

 _To Miss Rose Weasley,_

 _You are genaily invited to join the Stellar Society,_

 _A club for Hogwarts' brightest and best._

 _There will be a greet and meet next Friday evening_

 _In my Office at 7 pm_

 _for those who wish to mingle among the stars._

 _I look forward to your attendance._

 _Stella Bellucci_

She looked around at the other beds and their occupants. No one was holding a similar invitation and she wasn't about to ask whether they had received one. She left the star-spangled invitation on her bed, considering Scorpius' strange bond with Bellucci while she showered. After putting on her father's old Chudley Cannons jersey, Rose retrieved the invitation and set off for the boy's dormitories.

She needn't knock on the sixth year's door. Toby Fleischer was about to enter.

"It's pretty late, Weasley."

"I'm looking for Malfoy," she said.

Fleischer shrugged. Rose pursued him into the room, finding that Scorpius was absent. Zabini was lounging across his bed, a magazine propped across his legs. He looked up and raised his dark eyebrows as Rose entered.

"Did we take a wrong turn?"

"Did any of you get this?" she asked, holding up the invitation.

Both the boys squinted. "Nup," Fleischer said. "And I'd bet all my savings that Mumps didn't either."

"Right." Rose stared at the card a little longer, trying to work out who may have received the same dreaded invitation. Surely, she wasn't the only one. "I need a word with Malfoy."

"I think he went to the communal lavatories," Fleischer offered. "Since Mumps is using our en suite."

"Cheers," Rose said, starting back towards the door. "Have sweet dreams, boys."

"Only if they're of you," Zabini called after her.

Rose made her way down to the communal lavatories, a block at the very back of the dungeon. The marble floor was cold under her feet, and the shower blocks were filled only with the dripping of their faucets. The entire bathroom was empty, but Rose guessed Scorpius was in here, or had been. She had come to this secret spot before.

She moved over to the third stone trough mounted on the wall, opposite the mirrors. The snake border around the edges was carved with a decadence that no one bothered with anymore. Who wanted to admire a serpentine inspired trimming while they urinated?

Rose knocked on the top of the trough loudly and took a few steps back, leaning against one of the sinks on the opposite wall. She wondered what it would be like to take her clothes off and shower here, where anyone may walk in. The thought was absurd. Her entire body felt chilled, gooseflesh erupting on her bare legs. She tugged at her shorts and settled onto the marble floor. She wondered whether Scorpius wasn't in his secret hiding spot, wasn't even in these bathrooms at all. Maybe she was out of sync with him, unable to guess his thoughts and moods. It was a shame. She wanted to descend down into the dark, in a place where she wouldn't have to look at Scorpius, and she wouldn't know whether or not he was looking at her.

It was lucky she didn't get up and leave. A few minutes later, the trough slowly rotated and slid aside to reveal a gaping hole. Scorpius emerged, looking quite cautious. His white-blonde hair caught the light. "Oh," he said, his eyes lighting up when he saw Rose sitting under the sinks opposite him. "Brilliant, it was you. I thought I heard knocking. You should come down here, I have something to show you."

He was already eagerly descending the ladder again. Rose clambered back to her feet and followed, sliding into the passage and climbing down, rung by rung. There wasn't much light at all, and she made the journey by touch alone. She had made it many times. She and Scorpius had spent months in this rabbit's den, learning how to make potions together and sharing secrets in the echoing dark.

She hit the chamber floor with her bare feet. It was cold and slimy. The room was almost totally dark, except for the feeble flames flickering beneath a cauldron. Scorpius was no more than a shadow about an arm's length away. The darkness did something to them both. It filled the space between them, making everything black. Through the shadows, their bodies had become a seamless entity, like the ocean and the sky at night. One long sheet of darkness. That vast, gaping distance that Rose had carried around all day vanished. Perhaps she would be able to talk to him now, to voice all her grievances. She was a coward, but the dark had always made her brave. Rose took a step toward him, but before she could take another, he was already bearing down on her, his mouth against hers. He kissed her in a way he hadn't before. He wasn't clumsy at all. One hand gripped the nape of her neck, the other held the side of her head.

He broke away, and Rose felt as stiff as a column. "Vanilla," he said.

"What?" she replied.

"You taste like vanilla."

"No I don't."

"Well, I'm not imagining it, Rose. It clicked today when I smelt that potion. You've always tasted like vanilla."

"I haven't eaten anything with vanilla in it," she replied, almost heatedly.

She wasn't lying and his accusations rubbed her the wrong way.

Before she could argue the point, he was kissing her again. It made no sense, but she couldn't let got of her anger; it bled into the kiss. He held her neck and she held his, so their arms were locked around each other at sharp angles. She could feel the heat of his body through his clothes, the narrowness of his hips against hers. The bones there pierced her like nails.

He leaned back, reading the sharpness of her body. He studied her intently, still gripping her head, one hand cradling her neck, fingers tangled in her curls. Her eyes had adjusted to the gloom, and she was close enough to read his expression. Or to watch him try to read hers. His grey eyes were dark as stone, his stare so intense it was hard to meet. "You're mad at me."

"I'm fine," she lied, her neck rigid.

Scorpius dropped his hands, ending the contact between them, but he did not step away. "Why are you mad?"

"Do you want to fight?"

"Do you want to resolve whatever it is you feel like fighting about?" he replied evenly.

"You've ignored me all day," she blurted out, feeling the heat rise to her face. This was not the sort of person she expected herself to be. She was not the sort of person who was possessive of their partner; jealous over the time they spent without her. But here she was.

"We sat together at breakfast, and during Potions."

"You _ignored_ me. You've been so detached, all day, ever since _yesterday_ really."

"You realise that isn't by choice, right?" he confirmed, still steady as ever.

"I—I realise that," she faltered.

"I'm not ignoring you because I'm uninterested or bored," he said, not talking down to her at all. For once, there wasn't a single drop of condescension in his tone. Only a need to clarify. "I'm doing anything _but_ ignoring you really. I spent all day staring at you from across the room, feeling incredibly obvious."

"Okay," Rose said softly. She felt a little better having heard this, or having voiced her concern. "It's just…you tend to do this thing."

"What thing?" he said. "I need you to be specific."

"This—this _thing_. It's like you shut down your emotions." Scorpius didn't respond, either to accept or deny this assessment of his character. Rose took this as a sign to go on, "That sort of freaks me out."

"Because I'm like a mindless Inferius?"

"I can't tell half the time," she huffed.

"Whether I am alive or actually an Inferius?" he processed dubiously.

"Whether you're into me."

Scorpius blinked at her. He turned away, running his hands over his hair, looking as if he was containing the urge to curse. It occurred to Rose that she had never heard Scorpius say any curse words before, which was odd, considering how freely she cussed in front of him. When he turned back to her, she could see his confined frustration.

"I don't know what to do to convince you," he said, shaking his head. "I don't know. I'm sorry, but you just have to take my word on it. I can't trail after you like a puppy or write poems or sing love songs because I'm not that sort of person."

The idea of Scorpius Malfoy singing a love song cracked through Rose's bad mood. She puckered her lips to hide her smile.

"I…I do shut down my emotions a lot. I'll admit to that." Scorpius exhaled heavily, dropping his hands. "I know you're the exact opposite but I can't _change_ the way I act just so I can reassure you."

"It's fine," Rose said, nodding quickly. She had been so stupid. The entire argument, the _idea_ of the argument, her resentment for him, had been nothing short of insecure. She thought back on Nathan Corner, on his pandering kisses and constant showers of affection. How disingenuous that had all been. She stepped forward and kissed him. "You smell like dirt."

"Cheers," he huffed, still cross. "I suppose I need to shower more."

"Like dirt and herbs and pot-plants. That's what I smelt in my potion," she said.

For the briefest moment, she saw his eyes soften. Then, he leaned in to kiss her neck clumsily. It was the first time he had done anything like it, and a shiver crept down her spine. She slid her hands down to his hips to steady herself. His neck was buried in her collarbone, his hair tickling her cheek. He smelt like musk and earth and herbs. She tasted like salt.

She was leeching the heat out of his body and into hers, feeling it spread from her neck to her thighs, like a bottle being poured full of liqueur. The rapid rise of her heart rate mirrored the hitch of her breath. She had never felt like this being kissed, and she had kissed quite a few boys. It made her head spin. It was like he was an explorer, discovering a foreign land for the first time. Each bold movement was filled with the smallest hesitation, the littlest pause, a rest to gauge her response. There needed to be some way she could communicate her approval without words, because words failed her in the dark. Words gave way to the feel of his hips against hers, the smell of his hair against her cheek. With his head still tucked into the collar of her jumper, she leaned in to kiss his jaw, his cheek, the shell of his ear. She felt his diaphragm expand against her chest before his breathing haltered, staggered. His mouth parted against her neck, still, like a fish on land.

He took several steps back, loosening his hold on her hair. Her hands slipped away from his skin. Stupidly, her wand was still under her pillow in her room. She hadn't thought to bring it. He would certainly have his, but he chose not to light it. She would have liked to try and read his face just then, certain that for once it would not be a perfectly unresponsive mask. But he had moved too far from her, and all she could make out was the glint of his grey eyes.

"I had something to show you," he said, his breathing still heavy.

"Okay," she said. "I assumed that was code for snogging, though."

"Nothing I say is ever code for snogging," Scorpius explained patiently. "If I want to snog you, I will just snog you." His smile glinted from the flames of the cauldron. He had regained his patronising drawl, but his breathing was still irregular, like he had just gotten off the Quidditch pitch.

Rose drew closer to him and he linked his arm around her waist, leading her to the cauldron.

"I had a word with Bellucci after class this morning."

"Yes," she replied dryly. "I noticed."

"I asked her whether she would be interested teaching Alchemy for students who want to extend their studies in Potions."

"Oh," Rose said, genuinely surprised. She had forgotten that Scorpius was interested in Alchemy, or Potions at all. She felt silly for questioning his loyalty to her over Bellucci. She mustered up a bit more enthusiasm. "What did she say?"

"If I can find more than two students, she'll run the class."

"Well, sorry my dear but I would rather drop out of school than do extension Potions."

Scorpius chuckled. "Right, of course. I have some people I might coax into it. But imagine, I could do an entire _thesis_ on Spagyrics in my final year. I would finally get to combined Herbology and Potions."

"Sound like a dream," she agreed.

"Oh—and Bellucci said I need to start experimenting with my brewing if I want to be taken seriously at a Potioneer, so," he gestured to the low, bubbling cauldron.

Rose leaned in. There was no smell emitted from it, but the water was a pale purple colour, bubbling slowly. "What's it supposed to be?"

"The Wolfsbane Potion. I've literally just started on it," he added, sounding quite nervous. His fingers gave an involuntary little squeeze around her waist. "But I wanted to try and experiment with the formula. See if I can come up with a proper cure for werewolves."

"That's mental," Rose replied. "Do you understand that that's mental, Scorpius? Do you realise that one of the Key Ingredients of the potion is monkshood? You might poison someone if you get this wrong."

"I won't test it until I know for certain," he said, waving her off. "In any case, I expect this will take me years to perfect."

Rose stared at the potion. The notion that Scorpius was aiming for something this inconceivable made her feel as if her goals for completing school were incredibly unambitious. She smiled half-heartedly. "That reminds me. I came down here to ask about this," she said, pulling the small, black card from the pocket of her shorts. She handed it to him. Scorpius stepped back to retrieve his wand and light the tip. "Did you get one of these?" Rose prompted.

"Yes," he said, scanning it quickly. "Bellucci's club."

"The Stellar Society," Rose said, unable to hide her contempt. "I mean, it's some sort of joke, right?"

"I reckon it'll be grand," Scorpius replied, handing the invitation back. "I don't think many of our friends were invited, so we can actually enjoy each other's company."

Rose frowned. At least that was true. But Scorpius' apparent love for sycophancy did not sit well with her, at least not where Bellucci was involved. Rose had never taken issue with being the teacher's pet until now. She pocketed the invitation again, taking a few steps back towards the ladder. Her feet felt dirty on the wet floor.

"You'll be down here a lot, I suppose. How do I get in if I need to find you?"

Scorpius hesitated. Rose wondered whether he wanted to keep this chamber exclusively his own, a place that only he could access with his serpent-tongue. Like so much else of him, locked off and out of her reach. His hesitation was short lived though. He smiled in the gold light of his wand. "I'll try to teach you to say open in Parseltongue," he said.

He was continuing to surprise her, at least. She hadn't expected that to be his response. In any case, learning Parseltongue—and she knew that it required some sort of hereditary ability to master, unlike any other language—unsettled her. Scorpius took a few steps forward and hissed. It was an unearthly sound, something that sounded inhuman and cold. A wet sliding hiss. "That means open. It'll get the trough to move."

Rose tried to copy the sound. The idea that it was a part of a language seemed impossible to her. Scorpius had her try again, patient but persistence, as he always was. Rose tried it several times until it sounded right to him. "Try it when you get to the top of the ladder."

Rose took hold of the rungs and made her way to the stone fixture at the top. The first attempt she made didn't have any effect, and it wasn't until her fourth that she seemed to replicate the sound Scorpius had made earlier. The trough moved aside, revealing the gaping hole to the boy's lavatories. She hastily climbed out of the pipe, deciding she needed another shower before bed. It was late, and it felt as if the whole house was sleeping. Scorpius clambered out after her, speaking in Parseltongue to close the passage. He turned back to Rose and smiled in the poor lighting of the bathroom. He leaned in to kiss her gently, without the ardent zealousness of their behaviour underground. Now out of the dark, the kiss felt risky. Rose briefly closed her eyes before pulling back.

"You were right. We can't act like a couple in public," she said, somewhat bitterly.

"Why do you say that?" he said, kissing her lips pithily once more.

"Meredith knows."

Scorpius pulled back suddenly. " _Meredith?_ "

"She thinks I have a crush on you."

Scorpius stared at her with very sombre, grey eyes. "Well, do you?"

She swatted him, willing him to take her seriously. "I denied it of course. But if she could notice based on one conversation over breakfast…"

"Right," Scorpius said, nodding with a bit more conviction. He looked rather displeased. "Right. We need to be _more_ conscious of ourselves."

"No flirting in public," she agreed.

"Oh, please," Scorpius scoffed. "I wouldn't call what I do flirting."

* * *

September settled into a routine as the sixth year's workload came down with greater force. Everyone was preparing for Quidditch trials, and sporting fever was beginning to heat up. The new friendship that had sprung up between Gryffindor and Slytherin had not tempered the competitive nature of the two Houses. Free periods were often spent practicing on the pitch, something the teachers warned against. Albus, however, had decided to spend his free period on a Wednesday afternoon in the common room, finishing off homework.

"Did you get a weird invitation from Bellucci?" he asked Imogen as they headed from Transfiguration to the Gryffindor Tower. They began climbing one of the moving staircases.

"Yes," she said, "and you better be going."

Imogen and Albus were two of the students that had been approached to take Alchemy as an extension to Potions. Scorpius had begged them to do it, and with Mary Boot joining the class, they had a total of four. It was an elite level of potion brewing, the workload strenuous, but Bellucci had grown fonder of the four since and openly favoured them in class.

This bothered Albus quite a bit, but there was no point confiding this in Rose. She became vicious at the mention of Bellucci's name and the topic of her favouritism.

"I dunno," Albus sighed. "It seems sort of like…brownnosing."

"You're opposed to brownnosing?" she scoffed, hitching her bag onto her shoulder. "As if. The son of Harry Potter, on a first name basis with most of the staff, is opposed to brownnosing."

"I am not a brownnoser," he said, genuinely annoyed.

"I bet you'll get Head Boy purely because of your last name. You and Rose Weasley are the sure-ins."

This irked him more than he wanted it to. He considered telling her that James had missed out on the Head Boy position, and _he_ was also a Potter. Of course, he had also missed out on becoming a prefect, and there was no surprise in why. Albus glared at her, disenchanted that he had left the classroom with Imogen and hadn't gone ahead with Damian Lee as he usually would. He started taking the stairs a little faster, determined to leave her behind.

"I'm going to guess that there'll be brilliant food and maybe even booze, so I'm definitely going," Imogen said, a step behind him. Albus started climbing the staircase more quickly but she kept up. "Have you noticed that the Hogwart's dinners haven't been up to scratch of late? They're hardly even serving dessert anymore and everything's so bland. Put it down to the Depression or whatever, but I'd have expected the house-elves to get around using less sugar—whoa!"

Albus turned abruptly, alarmed by her yowl. Imogen was clutching the banister, looking a full foot shorter than usual. Her leg had sunk up to the knee in the trip step that Albus skipped by second nature. She had dropped her schoolbag, books scattering over the stairs below. Albus quickly ducked down to pick them up, shoving them back into her bag, while Imogen let out a stream of curse words that sent several second years scurrying by.

"Don't worry about it, it's fine," Albus said, almost automatically, slinging her bag over his other shoulder. He came to stand in front of Imogen again, gripping her under the armpits in preparation to pull her out. "Happens all the time."

"Yeah, to bloody first years," she said, looking filthy. "Fucking magical school with their magical staircases. It's bloody irresponsible, that's what it is."

"Mind your language," he said, glancing around at the second years that had reached the landing above. "You're a pre—"

"If I want to bloody swear, I will," she snapped. "A badge won't stop me."

Albus retracted his arms, crossing them over his chest instead.

"You know, I might just leave you here."

"You wouldn't dare, Potter," she said, brimming with fury. She grabbed hold of the bannister and tried to pull herself out. "Get me out of this fucking step or I'll throw a curse at your smug face."

Albus took two steps up, putting more distance between them. "How will you do that, Midge? I have your bag, and your wand's in your bag."

For the first time in all the time he had known her, genuine panic flooded her face.

"Don't you dare leave me here."

"I think you could use some time to think about your behaviour," he said, feeling incredibly ballsy as he took the final few steps backwards. He reached the top of the landing. Imogen looked absolutely stunned. "I'll drop your stuff in the common room."

"Get back here, Albus! This isn't funny!"

Still, Albus was chuckling to himself as he made his way to the Gryffindor Tower alone, two bags swinging on his back. He wasn't nearly as much of a pushover as everyone thought he was, nor was he a brownnoser. In fact, he told himself that he couldn't care less whether Imogen Abercrombie was angry with him or not. (This wasn't true, for Albus cared all too much about what people thought of him). He reached the Gryffindor portrait-hole feeling uncharacteristically smug.

"What's put you in such a good mood?" the Fat Lady asked.

"Applesauce," he said, delivering the password. The portrait swung open and Albus ducked through with a triumphant grin on his face, looking forward to retelling the tale of Imogen Abercrombie and the Trip Step. Instead, he was met with a mournful circle of Gryffindors surrounding one pale faced sixth year.

"Angus," he said, dropping both his and Imogen's bags on the floor. Damian Lee was already sitting beside him on the sofa, consoling him in a low voice. Lorcan Scamander was resting against the arm of the sofa and Roxanne was kneeling on the carpet in front of him.

Angus was pale. His thin, pimply face was knotted with nervousness. It was a shock to see him in his uniform, the scarlet tie around his throat looking like an open wound. His younger brother, Simon, was nowhere to be seen. Albus guessed that he must have been in class.

"You're back," Albus said, taking a few steps towards him. There were a few other senior students in the common room, Albus' brother being one of them, but they did not move over to crowd Finnigan. At most, they paused in their work to listen. James was the only seventh year who didn't look up. He had a yellow squash perched on the table in front of him, and was deliberately experimenting with different charms to change it's size and texture.

"Er, yeah. This morning," Angus said, the words coming out so quietly they hardly made a sound. "I had to sort out a timetable…"

 _Pop. Pop._ Albus glanced over at James, whose spells disrupted the otherwise sombre mood. "Mate," Albus said, falling into the seat beside him. With shocking clarity he could recall the flowers sprouting over his father's casket only a month earlier. "Are you alright to be back so soon?"

"I'm fine," he said, his voice attempting a bit more resolve.

"We've all been worried about you," Roxanne said, her voice soft. "All of us. The whole House will be glad you're back."

"People were worried?" he murmured, looking at each of them as if in a daze. "Right, thanks. Did Rose ask about me?" he added, turning to the cousins that were present.

Roxanne and Albus shared a confused look. "Yeah, well, we've all been wondering how you were going."

"I'm fine," he said again, then shook his head. "My dad's dead."

Everyone was silent; no one had anything to say in response to that. One of James' spells cracked the squash, sending bits of splattered vegetable across the table.

"How are things outside?" Lorcan asked, determined to ignore James. "The _Prophet_ hasn't been saying anything. The Quibbler's been shut down. We don't know what's happening."

"Yeah," Angus said, nodding as if he was recalling something from a dream. "Yeah, they're censoring everything. The Ministry. They came in a week after my dad died and installed this Ministry wireless into our house. Every magical home has to have one by law."

"A wireless?" Lorcan repeated, sharing a look with Roxanne.

"Yeah. Gladstone said that it was to close the gap for families too poor to buy a wireless. Everyone got one for free. Except you can't turn them off, and all the channels are just propaganda. All day, propaganda. You can turn the volume down but you can't turn them off."

Angus stared absently at the fireplace. He was a weedy kid, as if he was a plant left in a dark room without sunlight. He looked starved, too thin. The tendons stood out in his hands. Albus gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "You'll be alright here, you know? Drummond's got good security."

"We'll keep an eye on you," Roxanne promised.

"Don't worry, Finnigan," James boomed from his corner. "In a month's time, you'll be laughing again. I solemnly swear it."

Roxanne half stood, furious. Albus turned on the sofa to glare at his brother. "What's your _problem_?"

"Leave him," Lorcan muttered quickly. "He's experimenting for his Graduation Prank."

"That doesn't give him the right to act like a complete prat," Albus seethed, his teeth gritted together.

"Just let him go," Lorcan pleaded, his face pale and a little desperate. He was speaking in a low voice so James wouldn't overhear, but it didn't appear he would have anyway—he had already returned to his squash. "He hasn't been himself ever since the concert. He's been screaming so much in his sleep this last week that we had to put a Silencing Charm on him. If the prank planning is what's distracting him at the moment then let it go."

It was the first Albus had heard of this. He glanced over at his brother, who had reassembled the squash and now had his wand in the centre of the pieces, a sort of manic concentration on his face. Albus turned back to Angus, who seemed unmoved by the entire exchange. He slowly got up, and everyone shuffled after him.

"I'm going to go get ready for lunch."

"Do you want one of us to come with you?" Damian asked. "We can unpack your stuff for you?"

Angus Finnigan slowly turned around again, his expression somewhat puzzled beneath the numbness of his grief. He was an absolutely ordinary boy, a bit scrawny and nondescript. Sandy hair and a spotty face. He had no desire to be looked at, to be looked after. He blinked at the ensemble of concerned students as if in a daze. "It's not going to be like this all the time, is it?"

"Like what?" Damian asked.

"You two hardly ever did me any favours," he said, looking at the two roommates that were present. "And you lot never even spoke to me until today. The only person who is treating me like normal is James and he's blowing up pieces of vegetables." James looked up upon hearing his name, staring over at Finnigan. Angus blinked at his housemates before moving towards the dormitory. Beneath his breath, he muttered, "Just want things to go back to how they were."

Everyone watched him leave, unable to even apologise without further exaggerating his point. Roxanne guiltily retrieved her schoolbooks from the nearby coffee table and exited through the portrait hole without another word. As she left, Imogen Abercrombie entered, looking furious. She picked up her schoolbag from where Albus had discarded it and threw it as hard as she could at the boy who had abandoned her.

"Fuck you. _Fuck you_."

"Ow!" Albus cried, clutching at his abdomen as the heavy sack fell to the ground. "How'd you get out so soon?"

"André Zabini pulled me out, because even the biggest wanker of our year was less of a wanker than you," she fumed, storming towards him in a rage. Damian Lee and Lorcan Scamander dispersed like frightened prey in the wake of a lion. "You're an absolute arsehole, Albus!"

"Calm down, Midge," Albus said, totally unperturbed. "I'm over it."

"Well, _I'm not_ ," she yelled. "You should feel like shit!"

"Don't worry, he already does," James called, still pursuing his obscure experiments. "He just got a scolding from Angus Finnigan."

"Well, I hope you weren't as self-righteous with him as you were with me," she spat, grabbing her bag from the floor and slinging it over her arm. In the process, she hit him heavily across the shoulder. Albus sighed, running a hand over his face.

"I was."

* * *

When Teddy was not working at an ice cream shop, he was working at the Ministry of Magic, pretending to be a goblin in a position similar to a temp. He was shuffled around on admin duty, mostly doing paperwork. It was the perfect position for him—he had a chance to listen without being spoken to very much. Orlick, who was continuing Teddy's lessons for one hour every evening, had instructed him to always speak English when in the company of humans. Speak in Gobbledygook when in the company of Goblins, but try to avoid speaking at all. Teddy's Gobbledegook had improved immensely, but he could not pass as a native speaker.

What Teddy had not expected was another goblin taking a very personal interest in him. His name was Welgruk, and he was a batty old goblin with a grumpy, growling voice. He had a fuzz of brown hair around his domed head that made him look like a storm cloud travelled with him wherever he went. He was incredibly cynical and had a strong distaste for the way humans worked—the food they ate, the way they dressed, the jokes that made them laugh. His constant commentary on the backwardness of human beings was a relentless buzz in Teddy's ear. For some reason, he really liked Teddy, who rarely spoke and mostly followed instructions without question. His name, while in disguise, was Rookwil, but Welgruk called him Rook.

This is why Teddy found himself sitting in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic with Welgruk, holding a cabbage soup that he was forcing himself to eat, while spending his lunch break with the grumpy old goblin. They were perched on the fountain, beneath a new golden statue. It simply showed a wizard and a goblin, side by side, both holding wands. Water poured from the tips of their wands, and the bubbling water spat on the back of Teddy's arms.

"So, the King has succeeded," Welgruk muttered viciously, glaring at the shadow that the two statues cast. "He is the monarch over the goblins and the humans now."

"That was his intention all along?" Teddy frowned.

" _Rook, open your eyes_ ," Welgruk chuckled in Gobbledygook. "Haven't you noticed that the Ministry's entire cabinet has been replaced? The monarch, through Grigarex's instructions, appoints all those in power. Even Gladstone is a puppet for the King."

Teddy watched the goblins and humans scurry towards the elevators or the fireplaces, moving to or fro. To think, all of this started with getting goblins wand rights. He had come to this very hall months earlier, demanding that Cresswell helped change the law. Wand rights had led to the change in definition of the title 'wizard', and now, the Goblin King was both wizard and monarch. All distinctions had been eroded. One, large, powerful state.

"We were not supposed to be ruled over. Our King was once The First Among Equals. That was the principle he lived by. He had to work like the commoner—work _harder_ than the commoner. Now, our King acts like a power-hungry human. You may be too young to remember his rise to power," he said, glancing at Teddy. " _Brutvul_. He has aggrieved me personally."

"How so?"

"My wife was a Morgana supporter. She and my children were murdered for it."

Teddy flinched at this. He understood what it meant to lose loved ones, and that distinction went beyond culture and species.

"My only son dead, at the hands of the system. Blinded, then beheaded." Welgruk muttered, his voice thick with emotion. When he next spoke, it was in his native tongue. "Until the king falls, until the _kingdom_ falls, I will not be satisfied."

If Teddy had been a goblin, he would have been too young to remember the first few waves of the Goblin King's purge. Orlick had informed him of the bitter history, so he knew about the purges. Morgana's enslavement, her supporters' public executions. And then, the Goblin King's desire for a wand. The ultimate symbol of power. The reason his world had become entangled in Welgruk's. The sole motivation for coexisting with humans.

"Human society is so crude, but the King admires them," Teddy said, expressing the sentiment Welgruk so often muttered while in the office.

"Disgusting, having us live like humans," Welgruk agreed, drinking his broth. "Wearing their clothes, living above ground. It is truly ironic. Gladstone wishes to model his society on our ideals, but he will never achieve that goal. Humans are a disease, far too selfish and greedy to create a system of fairness. And our corrupt King tries to model our system off the humans', jealous of their achievements and individualism. _Tülgatsav_."

"There is no way to fix this, is there?" Teddy said, desperation swelling inside of him. The impossibility of the task ahead loomed over his head like the shadow cast by the two statues behind them.

Welgruk laughed. He had a hacking sort of laugh that came from the back of his throat. He said a saying that Teddy vaguely understood in Gobbledygook but could not translate without losing the effect. It went along the lines of squeezing blood from diamonds if you're willing to cut your hands. Teddy looked at his hands, the long fingers and pointed nails. "There is only one answer to this mess, and it is anarchy."

"Anarchy," Teddy repeated, something skipping in his heart, like a stone over water.

" _Anarhia_ ," Welgruk replied, nodding sagely. "To overthrow all governments. To destroy all those who hold power."

"You would not choose to reinstate the Queen? Morgana?" Teddy said, genuinely surprised.

"Morgana was weak, was she not? She fell, she was thwarted. Females rule households, not states."

Teddy scoffed, unable to hide his distaste of his notion, even if it was the more conservative goblins perspective. Welgruk went on, increasingly vindicated. "We must kill the King to destroy the Monarchy. That was the Kobold Könige's goal from the beginning. _Königsmord_."

Regicide. Teddy licked his dry lips. The cup of soup in his hand was slowly becoming cold. "Do you think they will do it?"

"Yes, they will. But they must act slowly. There is a plan, _Kleinuk_. It is not enough to kill one King. That will not end this oppression."

How many times had Teddy thought that Voldemort was a symptom of an uncured disease? It was true. Killing a tyrant would never end the tyranny. With disturbing clarity, he could recall the snide drawl of Scorpius Malfoy at the Social Justice Meeting, a fifteen year old with remarkably sharp features and slicked back hair. _The goblins have a historical precedent of disrupting our magical society. To an extent, they enjoy creating anarchy, as long as it doesn't impact their own system._ Anarchy was not necessarily a bad thing, Teddy knew. It was the political ideal, the one that Hufflepuff seemed to emulate. An absence of government. The absolute freedom of the individual. It had been what Gladstone had promised, modeling himself after the Goblin's anarchist society. But it had backfired.

Scorpius Malfoy, speaking with a cockiness Teddy once possessed, a cockiness that would be unseated by the real world.

 _They loathe the power and customs of wizards. They think us inferior, and our culture decadent. Their attempt at a Revolution is not to obtain equality, or realise some romantic notion of a universal brotherhood of magical beings. It's like all the Revolutions they started in the past—an excuse for violence and expansionism. That's all Revolutions are, really._

Merlin, the way Scorpius Malfoy had cut him that night. Fifteen years old, and he had stripped Teddy bare. That night, returning to Hogwarts—one of his many transitory homes—had hit the final nail into Teddy's coffin. He no longer knew where he stood in this fight. He no longer understood how equality could be achieved in practice when the theories were so tangled together.

"How do we win this battle?" Teddy asked, staring blankly at the stone floor. The fountain bubbled behind him merrily. "How do you bring down the system?"

 _A revolution can overthrow autocratic despotism, but it can never reform a manner of thinking; instead, new prejudices, just like the old ones they replace, become a leash for the great unthinking Mass._

Welgruk smiled, as if he somehow knew exactly what Teddy was thinking. "To seek out fights you don't have to."

* * *

Teddy arrived at Grimmauld Place feeling heavier than he had in months. No one else was in the house beside Victoire, for Harry had taken his Invisibility Cloak and was meeting with Selima in her tattoo shop. Teddy had orchestrated the meeting, knowing that they needed to protect werewolves from Gladstone's latest oligarchical decrees for Equality. Since Knockturn Alley was crawling with the Elite Squad these days, he should have been far more nervous about it than he was. He didn't have the energy for nerves anymore.

Victoire was in the drawing room, her legs tucked under her while she read. The tattered tapestry of the Black Family stared back at her, holes torn into the fabric with their daggers. Ellie Cattermole wasn't coming around tonight. There would be no training, and Teddy would not have to meet with Orlick until well after dinner. For now, they were both alone.

"Hey," Victoire said, not glancing up from her book.

"Hey," Teddy replied, not bothering to close the door behind him. There was no one to overhear them.

In the light of the gas lamp, he could see the slippery scar that ran across Victoire's collarbone. It was the souvenir of her fight with the dragon, a cut caused by its thrashing tail. A small price to pay for slaying a wild beast. Grandma Weasley had offered to heal it for her, as had Hannah Longbottom, but Victoire insisted on keeping the scar. Teddy could not understand why, unless she was intent on keeping it as a morbid tattoo. Absentmindedly, he brushed his fingers over the back of his neck, where his moon cycle tattoo was growing through its phases. They both liked to wear their trauma on their skin.

Victoire marked her page, finally looking up at Teddy. She noticed the odd look on his face. "Weird day?"

"You betcha," he said, falling into the loveseat beside her. "I think I've made friends with a goblin."

Victoire raised her eyebrows. "How does Orlick feel about this?"

"It's not as if I'm cheating on him," Teddy replied seriously. "Orlick and I were never exclusive."

"I _meant_ about making friends with the enemy," Victoire said, nudging him in the ribs. "Are you that convincing in your disguise that you could fool a potential friend?"

"Let's hope so," Teddy said, closing his eyes. "Because I really do like this bloke. He's a bit of an anarchist."

"Ah. So Teddy Lupin circa Seventh Year," Victoire smirked, placing her book aside.

Teddy's eyes were still closed. A part of him almost felt that he could trust Welgruk's mysterious reassurance of a plan. That the Kobold Könige, the Elite Squad, were not merely serving their own interests. That they were going to take down the King and destroy the system, allowing the rest of his world to fall back into place. Then the Order wouldn't need to fight the goblins, and no one would need to die. It was incredibly idealistic, and Teddy was so tired of idealism.

"What does it mean, to seek out fights you don't have to?" he asked.

"Is that a riddle?"

Victoire's tone was light, but Teddy's was not. Right now, his whole life felt like repressing fights that he did not want to have. About being extremely picky with choosing his battles. He did not want to fight the goblins, he did not want to fight the government and he certainly did not want to fight Victoire. That confrontation was coming, he knew, but he was not seeking it out deliberately.

They had slept together six times since that night in the attic. Teddy wasn't usually the type of person who kept a tally of those things, but he was being incredibly judicious now. Because sleeping with Victoire did not mean he was dating Victoire, and he could sense her hesitation in having that conversation. So, instead, they had a different conversation.

"I haven't gotten out of this house in weeks," she huffed, turning away from him. Her flaxen hair fell over her shoulders, covering the scar. "I stood in front of the window for ten minutes this morning in a bid to get some Vitamin D."

"Being so Undesirable is rather tricky," Teddy lamented, sighing profoundly.

"You hardly find me undesirable," she grinned, leaning in to kiss him. He kissed her back, almost impatiently, before drawing away again. "I bought chocolate frogs," he said, to distract her.

Victoire was sufficiently distracted. He dug around in his pocket to pull out the packet of frogs. Since living in isolation, trapped inside the house, Victoire was insisting on sweets. She had gone through several packets of chocolate frogs over that week, and she and Teddy were trading cards to keep themselves amused in their downtime. They had gotten twelve Harry Potter cards, which they had tucked into Harry's pockets and under his pillows to give him a bit of a stir.

Victoire sucked on a chocolate frog while she read her card, which was on Dymphna Furmage. Teddy bit off his own chocolate's twitchy leg. It was time to seek out the fight he didn't want to have.

"Are we together again?" he said.

Victoire's eyes hastily glanced over him before returning to her card. It was palpable that she was only pretending to read the short bio. "Did you bribe me with chocolate so you could have an uncomfortable conversation with me?" she said.

"I don't see why it should be uncomfortable," Teddy replied. When Victoire only pursed her lips, still pursuing her card, he tried for a lighter tone. "Chocolate does help in every situation, though."

Victoire clenched her teeth before throwing the card onto the floor. She crossed her legs and faced Teddy, her feet pressing into his thigh. "We're happy, aren't we? Why do we need labels?"

"Because I won't be happy unless we have a label," he replied. "Naturally, I'll be happy with the label of boyfriend."

"We broke up," Victoire said cautiously.

"We were actually on a break," Teddy said quickly. "I mean, it was almost inevitable we would get back together."

Victoire snorted, giving him a little kick. " _Please_."

"C'mon, as if you really thought we wouldn't get back together once you came home."

"As if you really thought it was _inevitable_ ," she replied, her face glowing with disbelief. "Lily told me you were a mess."

"Right, maybe I had some moments of doubt," he acknowledged, mentally cursing Lily for her need to gossip. "But I never once considered being in a relationship with anyone else."

Victoire's face paled. She blinked at Teddy a few times before looking away, staring pointedly at the tattered tapestry on the wall opposite them.

"I'm not nearly as loyal as you," she said quietly, frowning at the faces of the pureblood witches and wizards, marked and pocketed with holes and fraying threads.

"Don't say that."

"You were a mess. You were questioning everything in your life and I just took off. I bailed."

"It was just a break. You needed a break from me and I get that, Vic. I needed a break from me too, to be honest. I'm loads better now."

"I don't get why you want to be with me," she said, shaking her head slowly. "I bailed on you Teddy. When stuff got tough I literally ran across to another country. I lived with dragons. I refused to write to you or anything. That's pretty awful."

"I also became obsessed with goblin rights," Teddy said, trying to keep his tone measured. "I think we both committed our sins so let's move onto the forgiving bit. The rest is water under the bridge."

Victoire nodded, the worry still pinching her eyebrows and lips. She slipped her fingers into his, and relief poured into Teddy from the grip of her hand. The reassurance there. They had been together for so long, since childhood. The months apart had served them well, if only to remind them they could exist outside of each other.

"We've always been so on and off," she said, chewing her lip. "I'm afraid we'll just break up again."

Teddy laughed, knowing now that she was the fight he would always seek out. "That isn't going to happen. I swear to that."

* * *

Stella Bellucci had transformed her office completely. It no longer resembled the spacious dungeon that Turpins had inhabited for several years. She had swathed the room in black velvet, silver stars stitched into the drapes, so the grey stone walls were hidden by a simulated night. Balls of silver light sparkled above them, bobbing over an ebony dining table laid with exquisite dishes. Professor Bellucci sat at the head of the table, wearing silver dress robes that became sheer at knee length, so that her shapely legs could be seen through the fabric.

"Welcome, darlings! Come in," she said, spreading out her arms to signal their arrival.

Everyone was still in his or her school uniforms, sweaty and tired, loosening their ties as they entered the room. Rose came to a halt at the door the moment she saw their Potion's teacher, arms outstretched.

"Oh no," she muttered.

"Oh yes," Albus said, putting a hand through the crook of her arm.

"Except that I really think we should _not_ ," Rose insisted.

"What you meant to say was yes, we should," Scorpius said gently, taking her by the elbow and leading her into the room. The boys unwillingly dragged Rose towards the table.

The Scamander twins were both present, almost identical except for their school ties and slightly different builds. Lysander was examining his silver cutlery with great interest, spinning a fork around in mid-air as if he was twirling invisible pasta. Lorcan was leaning across the table to speak to Albus and Rose in his loudest whisper. "I'm not even taking potions," he said.

"You don't need to be," Rose replied, raising her eyebrows. "As long as you have a famous last name, you're on the guest list."

"Ignore Rose. She's very cynical," Albus said, taking a napkin and whipping her with it.

"Please, please, come in," Bellucci continued to chime, welcoming students into the room.

Naomi Bones had shuffled in with Caleb Macmillan. The moment they noticed the Slytherins on the far side of the room, they found seats that would put as much distance between them as possible. Mary Boot came in a little while later, taking the seat beside Lysander. She was wearing her hair out, which was unusual for her. It fell over her shoulders in dark waves.

Soon, each seat at the table had been filled. The sixth and seventh years that had all been invited seemed quite keen to be there. All the boys were staring at Bellucci with deep admiration. Rose was staring at the food, glad that it would at least make the gathering worthwhile.

Caleb Macmillan shook his napkin out before tucking it into the front of his robes. Lysander Scamander had stopped to inspect the goblin-crafted mead. Rose noticed, for the first time, that the balls of light bobbing above them were producing gentle music.

"Does everyone here know each other?" Professor Bellucci asked, looking from one new face to the next.

"Yes," Rose answered curtly. "More or less."

"Well, I'd prefer to know _more_ , not less, if I could," she simpered, handing Lysander a goblet to fill. He took it, stunned. "And I'm afraid that I haven't had the pleasure of acquainting myself with all of you. For instance, Mr Macmillan, I don't believe you're taking potions? Quite a shame, really. I noticed that you had scored an Outstanding."

Caleb seemed pleased to have had this piece of information broadcasted publicly, flushing with delighted. "Well, I'd prefer to take Care of Magical Creatures, and the subjects were on the same line."

"Of course, if that's where your heart lies. Still, we really seemed to have missed out on you!"

"Sorry I'm late," Imogen Abercrombie said, striding into the room. She didn't offer an explanation for her tardiness and pointedly took the seat beside Naomi Bones, whom she loathed, even though there was an empty seat on Albus' other side. As she dragged back the chair with a screech and fell into it, Albus visibly flinched. His green eyes seemed transfixed on the platters of food.

"That's alright, dear, we were just getting started." Bellucci waved her wand and the dishes on the table began to rotate, as if on a conveyer belt. "So, Caleb, you're from the Macmillan family? Or should I say clan?" she corrected, smiling knowingly.

"Er, yes. My father's side, Scotsman through and through."

Rose tuned out, turning to Albus on her left instead. "Is Imogen the only muggleborn here?"

"As far as I'm aware," Albus replied, staring at the pork he was pulling off a revolving dish and doing his best to avoid looking up.

"Strange she invited any muggleborns at all really," Rose sniffed. She struggled to stab some honey-glazed potatoes as they whizzed by on their tray.

Scorpius squeezed her leg discretely beneath the table. "Don't be so snide. She's not prejudice."

"She just runs in certain circles," Rose muttered, dropping half her brisket on the table as she attempted to drag it off the tray. As the next platter passed, she picked it up and started spooling food off it, intent on filling her plate before all the meals went by.

"You have quite the appetite, don't you, Rose?" Bellucci called, admiring her efforts.

"I like to eat," Rose said hotly, placing the half empty platter back on the table. Like the others, it returned to its little waltz around the circumference, offering each guest its content before moving on. "Is that a problem, Professor?"

"Certainly not. Food is made to be enjoyed," she said, her voice rising and falling lyrically. "And please, call me Stella amongst this company."

If 'this company' included a bunch of half-famous students and pureblood toadies, Rose didn't think she'd have much reason to be calling her Professor Stella. She would be sticking strictly to classroom acquaintances after this.

"It is a shame, Rose, that you didn't take on Alchemy when it was first offered. Are you having any second thoughts? You've missed quite a bit of work over these last two weeks, but if you chose to join now, you'd certainly be able to catch up."

"I'm happy taking standard Potions," Rose said, a little bit too short to sound polite. "I value my free periods too much to give them up."

Bellucci's smile became a little strained, even though it retrained it beautifying effect. She instead turned to the Slytherin beside Rose. "And my star student, Scorpius." Rose did not fail to notice that he sat up a little straighter. "What do you plan to do after school?"

Where Scorpius would have once hesitated, he now responded with confidence. "Er. Well, I'm quite interested in Potions. And Herbology."

"Well, you should consider Spagyrics as a field of speciality. We could certainly use gifted potioneers with a true understanding of herbalism. So few potion-brewers appreciate the purpose and origins of their ingredients."

Rose rolled her eyes discreetly. Merlin, this witch could talk. She must have fancied the sound of her own voice.

"That's what I was thinking," Scorpius nodded, lighting up. "Examining the properties of various herbs and extracting the mineral components from the ash of the plant. There's a lot that can be done medicinally with that."

"You should speak with Mr Potter about this," Bellucci said, nodding towards Albus. "He's interested in becoming a Healer. I'm sure you two could pool your knowledge on medicinal herbalism and potioneering."

Albus flushed, turning a bright beetroot red. He stared at his meal. Bellucci persisted animatedly.

"Both of you are promising Alchemists," she paused, dabbing her red lips with a napkin. Scorpius only smiled privately at the praise while Albus blush deepened even further. "I'm glad Scorpius requested the class. I don't think Turpins would have run it, but I am far more familiar in Alchemy as a branch of brewing."

For the first time, Rose understood that she had mistaken the ambition of her Slytherin cohort for arrogance. They were two in the same. Scorpius would not excel in his field if he did not have the unfailing faith of his Professor, as well as, faith within himself. This naturally required a bit of arrogance. No ambitious person could excel without it. And Rose valued ambition highly. It was not simply about drive; it was about being aware of your strengths in order to promote them, while having enough humility to receive help when needed. Both were required to get ahead and Scorpius _needed_ to stand on the shoulders of giants if he were to innovate on the Wolfsbane Potion. Bellucci was the giant offering up her shoulders. If success _could_ be bottled, the Key Ingredient of the potion would be arrogance.

"In any case," Bellucci said, smiling at them both with the tenderness of a mother, "you're both remarkably bright and I look forward to what you come up with."

"Oh, I wouldn't stroke their egos _too_ much, Professor," Imogen said from the far end of the table, throwing her napkin down onto the table. Rose heard Albus audibly gulp.

"Oh, Imogen my dear, I hope that's not jealousy I sense. Both you and Mary are quite exceptional in your own right."

"I'm aware of how exceptional me and Mary are," Imogen replied coldly, her eyes on Albus. "I'm just afraid that Scorpius is the one with all the talent."

Rose felt her own temperature increase, perhaps just due to her proximity to Albus. He physically shuddered in his chair, as if he had been hexed. Despite the fact that Imogen Abercrombie, who could probably scare off a Boggart, was not someone Rose would cross, she found herself instinctively reaching for her wand. As if he had anticipated the action, Scorpius had grabbed her hand tightly and lowered it.

"Albus has proved himself—"

" _Has_ he? You see," Imogen said, her voice acidic. "I thought he was just surviving academically by mooching off other people's abilities."

Naomi Bones giggled snidely, then quickly covered her mouth. Albus' embarrassment was transitioning into anger. "You're out of line."

"What. Do you have something to say to me?" she said, her tawny eyes like a lion's, predatory and perilous.

"Now, now. A bit of healthy competition is encouraged, but there's no need to squabble," Professor Bellucci said, waving her hand flippantly. She looked across to Lorcan, who's mouth was agape at his housemate's confrontation. "So, Lorcan. I hear you are quite a good Quidditch player. Team Captain of Gryffindor, yes?"

Lorcan spluttered before plunging into an awkward introduction. Imogen had not taken her eyes of Albus. She bit into a piece of brisket savagely, unblinking.

" _What_ did you do to make her that pissed at you?" Scorpius said in an undertone, clearly unnerved.

"I-I dunno," Albus muttered, twisting his napkin in his hands. "I might of…left her stuck in the trip step without her wand about a week ago."

"You _what_?" Rose said, her eyes wide.

"That's very unlike you."

Naomi Bones was now giving an impassioned little speech about her desire to expand on the Social Justice Club that had been started the year before, a topic that everyone was already bored with. Bellucci only seemed keen when Professor Longbottom's name was mentioned.

"I know, I know," Albus muttered, now balling the serviette into a knot. His green eyes darted toward Imogen before returning to his plate. "I thought it would blow over. Then, at last night's prefect patrol, she jinxed a suit of armour to follow me around the castle, pushing me down stairs and things. Almost twisted my ankle. She's sort of…scary."

"Merlin. Is this why she spilled her potion across your essay at our last Alchemy lesson?" Scorpius asked, raising his eyebrows. "Albus, how have you not already apologised?"

"You need to apologise," Rose advised.

"I did _sort of_ apologise."

"Sort of?" Rose repeated incredulously. "Mate. You need to patch this up. You can't be rowing with your prefect partner. You're supposed to be a united front."

" _You_ two used to row," Abus snapped.

"And that resulted in Rose punching me in the face," Scorpius replied. "So, all in all, take the advice of those who've lived out their mistakes and learned."

"And Imogen looks like she'd have a mad right hook," Rose added.

"Who ended up getting her out of the step?" Scorpius asked, curiously.

"André Zabini."

Albus rolled his eyes upon delivering the name. Both Scorpius and Rose cringed in reaction. "Oh man," his cousin sighed, glancing back at Imogen. "That makes you look _really_ bad."

"Cheers."

Albus straightened his napkin out on his lap, moving on from the subject with some forced determination. "I should add, Rose, that the day I left her in the step was the day Angus came back to school. He asked about you personally."

"Oh," Rose said, her face falling. She had only smiled half-heartedly at Angus during a Potions lesson, for he had been sitting with Imogen and Alice Lim at the time, and Rose would not have approached the table on those grounds alone. Suddenly, she felt guilty for neglecting Angus, even if they had never exactly been friends. "How has he been?"

"Quiet mostly," Albus replied, clearly concerned. That was the thing about Albus; he was always genuinely concerned. "He isn't speaking to any of us much, mostly because he was rather introverted in the first place. Damian was always closest with him, but they were never exactly _tight_ mates. We're worried."

Both he and Scorpius looked at Rose from either side. She sighed heavily through her nose. "Fine. I'll have a word with him and see if I can get him talking."

"Excellent," Scorpius agreed. "Let's face it, Rose. You could get a mute talking."

"She certainly had that effect on you," Albus agreed.

"I only talked to her so I could tell her to shut up."

"Thank you, gentleman," Rose sang in her closest imitation of Bellucci, "but that would be quite enough of that."

The boys both grinned, returning to their meals, all the while tuning out the dinner party's insufferable conversation.

* * *

"Midge."

" _Don't._ "

Albus stepped back, the fire of the common room casting her shadow like a huge, warbling beast behind her. What had unsettled Albus the most over this petty ordeal was the fact that someone was mad at him. Albus was an amiable sort of person. If people disliked him because of his father's infamy, he could handle it (although poorly). But having someone genuinely mad at him was enough to eat his conscience alive. Imogen was still furious. She had grown up a single child in an apartment in Manchester, with no friends other than her mother and her ratty street cat. She was a very proud person. She was not like Albus, who had been pranked so severely by both Lily and James throughout his childhood (sometimes teamed up _together_ ) that getting left in a trip stair was a minor offence. She was really furious, because no one had ever shown her up before.

"Imogen," he said, carefully this time. He had to be sincere.

"I don't want another apology. I already _told_ you I wasn't going to forgive you."

"I'm not going to apologise again," he said, still keeping his voice low and serious. He saw the surprise flash across her tawny eyes, followed by more fury. "I just want to talk."

She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him, evidently waiting, her jaw jutted out like a rugby player. Albus steeled himself. "I realise I really upset you by leaving you in that trip step—"

"Humiliating me," she corrected harshly.

"Humiliating you by leaving you in that trip step," Albus finished with a sigh. "It was childish of me, but I sort of thought you deserved it."

" _What_?"

"You're a mean person," he went on, completely earnest. "Really mean. Like, you make first years cry mean. It's probably your worst trait. You're also scary and a bit unapproachable, but I've always looked past those traits because I tend to see the best in people. But you're very _mean_ and what you said to me that day was awful."

"I told you I wasn't going to treat you as if you were special, Potter," she said coldly. "I'm mean to everyone."

"Right," Albus nodded, as if they were having a conversation about arithmetic. "But you have never goaded me about my father before— _ever_. That's what we talked about on the Hogwarts Express. I _told_ you that the reason I was fond of your bullying was because it never singled me out on the basis of being Harry Potter's son. And the moment I revealed this weakness, you decided to use it against me. And to peg all my achievements on nepotism." Imogen opened her mouth to protest, but Albus talked over her loudly, his tone still measured and controlled. "And I'm not sure whether you've ever used the nepotism card on any other Weasley or Potter, but I can assure you that it'll always make us lose our shit. There's nothing we hate more."

"I told you you're not special," she said, crossing her arms. Albus noted her shift from offensive to defensive body language. "If I want to shit-talk about your father, you won't stop me."

"Then you can expect me to leave you stuck in staircases," Albus replied.

Satisfied with this, he moved to walk past her, heading towards the boy's dorms. He was tired after cramming his homework into an afternoon study session before Bellucci's long dinner-party, and all he wanted now was to sleep. He had not crossed to the dormitory door before Imogen had yelled again.

"Well, _that_ was pretty mean!"

He turned back around. "What?"

"You leaving me in a staircase as _punishment_ instead of confronting me was really mean," she said, taking several steps towards him. "You just abandoned me."

"Zabini pulled you out. Most girls would swoon at the opportunity to be in his arms," Albus replied, rolling his eyes. "Consider it a favour."

"I've only ever spoken to Zabini half a dozen times in my life. We're—we're—we're supposed to be _friends_." She spat this final word out with some disgust, looking horribly embarrassed to have said it. She turned away to face the fireplace, her features set in a scowl. Suddenly, Albus understood why she was so offended and all his weariness melted like butter.

Imogen didn't have any other friends. It had never occurred to Albus, who had so many acquaintances due to his easy-going amicability with everyone. But Imogen had only Albus, and she had valued that friendship far more than he had realised. All this had been was an injured ego. She didn't have any other friends, and she had never fought with a friend before, much less forgiven one.

"We are friends," Albus said, lowering his voice. "You know, this is what friends do. They play tricks on each other and take the mickey and occasionally they'll row and make up afterwards instead of holding never-ending grudges."

Imogen twitched towards him but her arms remained crossed.

"Midge," Albus tried again, taking a tentative step towards her. "You realise that me leaving you in that step was actually a sign of what _good_ friends we are."

"What?" she hissed, finally turning to look at him.

"James put a tarantula in Lorcan's Quidditch glove. Lily once jinxed Hugo's Gobstone set to snap shut on his fingers. This is what friends _do_."

"Your family is bloody mental," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. But he knew he had won her over, for she was slowly unwinding her arms. As they fell at her sides, he sighed in relief. "Fine. I forgive you for being a complete prat."

"And I forgive you for treating me like I am Harry Potter's son," he said, smiling ironically.

Imogen rolled her eyes and headed towards the girl's dormitory tower. She paused at the door, her hand on the knob. "So, since we've established we're such _good_ friends, can I hex the suits of armour to whack you whenever you pass them?"

"Trust me, mate. You do not want to try and out-prank me. I have sixteen years of experience on side."

She pulled a face before hastening up the dormitory stairs. Albus smiled, relieved. Truth be told, anyone who didn't want to be friends with him was simply missing out.

* * *

Scorpius loathed tryouts. It was the worst part about being Captain. In order to be impartial, he allowed anyone who wanted to try out the opportunity to try out, despite the fact he had already made up his mind with who would get each role. He allowed the Beaters to go first, knowing it would be near impossible to convince him that his original duo would need replacing. Rose and Toby worked like a well-oiled machine, hardly needing to speak, being able to line up their plays with mere gestures. The other flyers, a mix of third and fourth years, were weak to say the least, and were really just wasting his time.

What bothered Scorpius most was the mixed group of fourth, fifth and sixth year Slytherin girls sitting up in the stands, watching avidly. At first, he thought they were gawking at Tim Buckingham, who was walking around in a tight singlet, stretching on the grass. But they did not follow him as he headed up to guard the three hoops. The girls' gaze's lingered on the ground, giggling in their cluster. Only Alice and Isabella remained serious, speaking in low voices.

"Looks like you've got a fanclub, Malfoy," Sterling said, thumping him on the shoulder.

He felt the heat climb to his neck, itching the collar of his dark green jumper. Rose only rolled her eyes, hardly bothered by this. For all her jealously over the last week, it surprised him that she wasn't the least bit annoyed. The girls continued to giggle loudly as Scorpius returned back to the group, looking over his checklist.

"Alright," he called. "Chasers first. Try to get a goal past Buckingham."

Meredith gave a little shiver. Rose stood behind her like a coach, hands on her shoulders, giving her a little squeeze before letting her go. The small second year stepped forward, her borrowed Cleansweep broom gripped in her hand. She was shaking with nerves.

As she mounted her broom, Scorpius noticed Alice Lim descending from the stands, making her way to the field. He was focused on her for a little while until Meredith was up in the air.

"Brilliant. Sterling, can you please run our first three drills against Meredith?"

Jonathan Sterling nodded easily, mounting his broom. Scorpius stared up, neck craned, not looking at Alice as she sidled up beside Stewart Mumps, her arms crossed over her flat chest. Instead, he pretended to be totally absorbed by Meredith.

And he didn't need to pretend for very long, either. Even on the rickety Cleansweep, her flying was solid and controlled. She returned all her passes easily, and surprised both Sterling and Scorpius with a well-executed Reverse Pass. Yet, she never managed to get the Quaffle past Buckingham. Gripping the broom tightly, she nosed into a dive to catch the rebound. Rose smirked, pleased.

"That's enough. You can come down, Meredith," Scorpius called, pretending to write on his clipboard.

Meredith landed heavily on the ground, although Sterling stayed airborne. The second year rushed over to Rose, clobbering her with the Cleansweep as she hugged her. "How'd I do? Was that good?"

"It was great," Rose said, but the look of pride had slipped off her face as Alice Lim approached her, her boots sinking into the muddy ground. Scorpius inched forward, suddenly tense, wondering whether he was about to break up a fight. But Alice was not looking at Rose at all. Her eyes were on Meredith, who was still glowing from the flight.

"Would you mind if I borrowed that broom?" she said.

"What?" Rose said loudly. Too loudly, confrontationally. Alice ignored her.

"Okay," Scorpius said awkwardly. "Mumps, you're up next."

As Stewart Mumps mounted his broom and took off to pass the Quaffle with Sterling, Alice Lim took the school's spare broom from Meredith. She sidled up beside Scorpius. Her name _was_ on the checklist, signed after Mumps. He hadn't mentioned it to Rose, only because he was sure Alice would back out. But here she was, waiting her turn, her short black hair in two tight pigtails. He sighed, squaring his shoulders as Mumps fumbled the ball. Everyone was slightly on edge, a feeling that only worsened when Mumps landed and Alice had her name called.

The tension seemed to increase when she was up in the air, opposite her ex-boyfriend, who was guarding the hoops with some trepidation. Maybe this is why she had tried out for Chaser—to face down Tim Buckingham.

But Alice also surprised Scorpius with her swiftness, weaving around Sterling to catch the ball and feinting for the left hoop before gracefully launching the Quaffle through the middle. The ease at which she got it past Buckingham was almost alarming. He had clearly underestimated her.

"You didn't tell me she signed up," Rose grumbled, tying her messy, auburn curls into a knot.

"She was a last minute addition."

Alice was better than he had expected, but she failed to score again, now that Tim Buckingham was on guard. After a few minutes, Scorpius called her down.

They were done, the small mob assembled before him anxious as they stood before their Captain. Alice landed lithely on her feet, like a cat, swinging one leg off the broomstick. It was almost as tall as she was, with only a few inches between the top of her head and the bristles. She planted it into the ground beside her.

"Excellent effort from everyone today," Scorpius said, nodding to each person in turn. "Of course, I will only be accepting the very best. If you don't make the cut, make sure to keep practicing and try again next year. Thanks again."

The group dissipated, a few of the former Quidditch teammates patting Scorpius' back in passing, reassuring him of their place on the team. Scorpius nodded as each left. Sterling and Buckingham stayed to help get the Bludgers back into their case, then slung their brooms over their shoulders.

"Do you need us, mate?" Jonathan asked.

Scorpius nodded up at the school. "You two can knock off. Thanks again for volunteering to help run the trial."

"Well, since it basically means we're sure-ins for the team, we can hardly complain," Buckingham said, grinning broadly. He and the other seventh year saluted their Captain before their departure.

Scorpius turned to find Rose, leaning down to strap the Quaffle into the trunk. She peeled off her gloves at her fellow Beater approached.

"Do you want me to take care of the bats?" Toby asked. Rose sighed heavily, running a hand over her forehead.

"Head up to the castle, Tobes. I'll take care of everything."

"Cheers," he nodded, handing her his Beater's bat, before nodding to Scorpius as a goodbye.

Alice was folding her cardigan over her shirt, waiting by the bottom of the stands for Isabella to join her. They headed back towards the castle together; Alice silent while Isabella talked animatedly. Scorpius noticed Rose watching them both, each hand clenched around the handle of the bat.

"What can I help with?" Meredith said, bouncing up beside him. She was grinning from ear to ear.

"Er, you can also head back to the common room if you like, Maxwell."

"I'd really like to help, Scorpius. Honesty."

"Let her help," Rose shrugged, taking one end of the trunk. Scorpius leaned down to take the other.

"Alright. Since you're going to the shed to return that broom, you might as well grab the two Beater's bats, too."

"Okay, cool," she said, retrieving everything from the grass. She bounced along in their wake as the two Slytherin prefects crossed the pitch to the Quidditch shed. It was dark inside, with little of the dusk light getting through the beams in the ceiling. Meredith left the two bats on the floor before climbing the ladder to the loft above, where all the school's brooms were stored.

Rose lingered, holding the trunk in her arms. Scorpius leaned against it. It was the only thing separating them.

"Alice," she said, her face pained. " _Really_?"

"I thought she signed up as a joke," he said.

Rose huffed, closing her eyes.

"You know, you didn't have to train Maxwell. It was nice of you."

Rose shrugged, leaning down to place her end of the trunk of the floor. Scorpius followed.

"Have you spoken to Angus yet?" he asked quietly.

"Not yet. I'll get around to it."

"You really should," he added, kissing her on the forehead. He walked by her, just as Meredith descended into the shed with her chest heaving, collecting the bats from the floor. "Where do these go?"

"On that shelf over there. Now, come here so I can find some robes that fit."

Meredith clattered across the shed, rolling the bats back into their shelf before shrugging off her jacket. Scorpius placed a uniform over her head, the robes hanging off her like bed-sheets. He twirled his wand expertly, shortening the sleeves and length. Meredith beamed up out of her new emerald-green uniform, brushing her fingers over her fringe before planting her hands on her hips, like a model striking a pose. "How do I look in it?"

Rose crossed her arms, nodding at her slowly. "Like a Chaser," she finally said.

"Like a winner," Scorpius corrected.

Rose rolled her eyes.

Meredith beamed.

* * *

 **A/N** : **There was way more I wanted to cover, but alas, so much trio school drama to deal with. I'm sure what wasn't dealt with here will roll over into the next chapter. Also, everyone loves Bellucci so much, sheesh. She's like Slughorn and Lockhart combined.**

 **Read and review mi amor x**


	8. Chapter Eight

— CHAPTER EIGHT—

Victoire emerged from her bedroom, still in her green luck-of-the-Irish pyjamas at around ten-thirty in the morning. She was exhausted from a late Order meeting that had run well into the night, in which Hermione had spent an hour discussing ways to get wands to house-elves.

Of course, Victoire and Harry—being so starved of human attention—dragged out the agenda until it was two a.m., and they were discussing the possibility of an elf-led branch of the Order. Ron had accidentally fallen asleep on Percy's shoulder, earning him an earful from his wife as they concluded the meeting.

Victoire stifled a yawn, padding her way down the dark narrow stairs as the smell of French toast and the sound of Teddy singing greeted her from the basement kitchen. She paused at the top step, watching him grill toast as he sung the words to a very old Ministry of Madness song. Early stuff, back when he first started recommending her records. With a jolt, she was fifteen again. He had a tea towel thrown over his shoulder to give him an air of professionalism, but as he reached the chorus, he grabbed the towel and started whipping it against the counter in time with the beat.

" _She's got Firewhiskey lips and Wrackspurts on her mind. I'll ask her what's wrong and she'll tell me she's fine."_

Victoire leaned against the doorjamb, singing the next line, " _I can be your Secret Keeper babe, just pop the wine. Being miserable together is better than just fine."_

Teddy whipped around; half embarrassed half enthralled to have been caught singing. When he realised it was Victoire at the door, he grinned madly before tossing the tea towel back over his shoulder. " _Oooooh, you are my poison_ ," he crooned, shimmying towards her. To his credit, he had mimicked the rough, throaty rasp of the lead singer perfectly. " _Ooooh, you are my cure."_

 _"_ Your toast is burning," she said urgently, stepping around him. Teddy grabbed her hand, twirling her instead. Victoire began to laugh as his free hand tightened around her waist. "The toast!"

"Sing the next line," Teddy requested.

"You'll burn this kitchen down!"

"Sing to me, _Victoire_ ," Teddy said in a deep French accent.

She indulged him. "Being miserable together is better than just fine. _"_

 _"_ Off-key," he noted, before releasing her to return to the toast. "I'm making you a bit of breakfast."

"Breakfast _and_ a show. Aren't I a lucky girl?" she said as she took a seat.

They had always been pretentious about their music, even at Hogwarts. It was the one thing that would always unite them. Teddy's shoulders shook as he laughed. His back was now to her. "You know, I've been getting back into the older stuff. That was the Ministry of Madness' first record. Before they got picked up and started making the watered-down indie pop shit they play nowadays."

"Ah, yes. That diluted diarrhoea on the radio," Victoire said, nodding with a pseudo poncey manner.

"I heard you playing Lover's Boil the other night in your room and it made me so nostalgic. I had to dig up all my albums from the boxes I bought over," Teddy said, rubbing the bread over the skillet.

"Er, Teddy. Do you even know how to cook?"

"I'm an excellent cook. I can even make a mean Hippogriff feet stew, but it's rather repulsive so I wouldn't subject you to it."

Victoire took a seat at the table, watching him as he worked over the skillet. She could see the tattoo of the moon on the back of his neck, transitioning through the phases. Her stomach grumbled as Teddy turned, the toast now on a plate. With a little flourish of the tea towel, he set it down on the table.

Teddy had never been an excellent cook. He had been notorious for stealing food from the kitchens during his school days and relied heavily on his grandmother's heavy meals to get him through summer. He had also been notoriously skinny growing up; for once Teddy was immersed in a project (whether it was a new band he had discovered, a new spell he had learned or a new underground celebrity he had fixated on) things like eating fell to the wayside.

But Teddy had filled out over the last few months. His face was fuller, his body less bony. He had put some weight on and toned up quite a bit from all their training. There was something sturdy about him now, something wholesome that had been missing for a while. When Victoire nibbled on a piece of toast, she noted that it was actually cooked really well.

"This is ace," she mumbled though a mouthful. She waved the toast at him and he leaned down, taking a bite out of her slice. Victoire shook her head before nudging his ankle with her foot. "Really, though. This toast may be the reason I fall back in love with you."

"Just the toast? Merlin, you're easy to please."

"And maybe your sexy Secret Keepers rendition," she added.

Teddy picked up her uneaten crusts and began to nibble on them, as was their old habit. He took the seat opposite her, linking his left hand through hers. He had been finding excuses to touch her ever since they had gotten back together, as if to physically reassure her of his presence. His arm swung loosely with hers as he took another piece of toast.

"It's your favourite breakfast food," he said, grinning.

"French toast?"

"Because you're French."

"So observant," Victoire said, rolling her eyes. "Until last year, your cooking repertoire ranged from baked beans to sliced up oranges."

"You _loved_ the oranges," he said, pointing his butter knife at her. "And I have evolved since then."

"Who taught you to make a Hippogriff feet stew?" she asked.

"Selima. While I was living with her she taught me how to cook a whole bunch of disgusting but thrifty dishes."

"Right, Selima," Victoire said, nodding half-heartedly. She only knew this witch as the werewolf Teddy had lived with for several months during his hiatus. Harry had met with her twice, and they were organising to have her come to the next Order meeting. "There's a lot I need to be caught up on."

"You'll catch up," he said, leaning forward to kiss her before heading to the sink to wash up. "I mean, the last month or so has been a crash course of sorts."

"What's happening with you and Digby?" she asked, for Teddy had not brought up his oldest mate in all the time Victoire had been back.

Teddy kept his back to her as he responded in a measured voice. "We're not really friends anymore."

"No?"

"Well, it came down to the choice between the Welfare Centre and me, and he chose the Centre." Teddy shrugged, washing out a bowl in the sink before accidently knocking the jar of cinnamon over. Clumsily, he scooped the spice back into the jar. Victoire watched the tendons in his neck move, the moon go from full to a waning gibbous. "It's his decision, if that's where his loyalties lie, I can't shift them."

"So you haven't spoken since, at all?"

"No," Teddy shrugged, propping the jar back into a cabinet and turning the water off. He turned around to face her, resting against the kitchen counter. He was wearing a blue hoody and dark jeans. It occurred to Victoire that he seemed to be wearing the same clothes, over and over again. Most she hadn't seen before. "He insulted you as well, and I wasn't going to take flack like that. So it was sort of the final straw," he said.

Her brow furrowed, almost in puzzlement, but before she could ask about the fight Teddy was moving on. "I was thinking, what if I tweaked your appearance a bit. Changed your hair colour, maybe made you look a tad more ugly. I could swap my looks around too, and we could spend the day out and about in muggle London? Give you a chance to leave this place."

The gesture was positively sweet but she couldn't imagine her parents going for the idea.

"Look, before you reject the idea _completely_ ," he said, leaning across the table and speaking animatedly with his hands, "why don't we head out of London, somewhere properly quiet? Maybe on the seaside somewhere. Just enjoy the fresh air. You love being around the sea."

"It's sort of our thing," she agreed.

"Exactly," Teddy said, flinging his hand out for emphasis and accidentally whacking Victoire in the nose. She wheeled back, her eyes watering instantly from the impact.

"Merlin, I am _so sorry_ ," Teddy said, half leaping out of his chair. "Are you alright? I am _so_ , _so_ sorry. Wait, let me have a look at it? Do you think I broke it?"

"It's fine," she said, batting him away as he descended upon her.

"Let me at least have a look. Merlin, I feel so guilty. Are you _crying_? Please just cut my hands off so this never happens again."

Victoire rolled her eyes at his dramatics, pinching the bridge of her nose firmly as she wiggled out of the chair. Harry descended into the room at that moment, properly dressed and holding his Invisibility Cloak. He noticed the way both his niece and godson stiffened as he entered. Victoire's hand was over her nose and mouth, her eyes still watery from having the bridge of her nose thwacked, making it look as if she were about to cry (something she seldom did).

"You two aren't fighting still?" Harry said cautiously.

Victoire snorted in disbelief, lowering her hand from the bridge of her nose. Merlin, Harry could be clueless. Most nights, Victoire would accompany Teddy up to his attic bedroom. The fact that Harry had yet to process this was both amusing and disconcerting.

"We're not fighting. I made French toast," Teddy said, motioning wildly at the plate. Victoire ducked away from him and Teddy immediately held his hands behind his back, like a fancy waiter. "In homage to Victoire's heritage and so on."

"How thoughtful," Harry replied, taking a slice.

"I'm now going to stand against this wall with my hands behind my back and not hit anyone," Teddy mumbled, inching backwards towards the fireplace.

"Are you heading out?" Victoire asked quickly as Harry grabbed a slice of toast. "I'll be alone this afternoon so if you're going out I would love to come."

"Er, its best if you stay put," Harry said, throwing the Cloak over his other arm. "I'm only dropping by my place to see Ginny so I won't be gone for long."

"Well, I'd _love_ to come," Victoire gushed, half standing. Teddy bit his lip to stop from smiling. "I mean, if that's okay. It's just that I've been stuck in Grimmauld place for weeks."

"Oh well, er…"

"Victoire, I don't think Harry is dropping by for a casual visit," Teddy said, very specific intonation on the word visit. Victoire's face went bright pink and her uncle also ducked his head at Teddy's brazen translation.

"Oh, right. In that case, you better go alone."

"Yes. Well. I will be back soon," Harry added, clearing his throat. "Probably around two."

Harry waved goodbye awkwardly as he exited the kitchen, gnawing on the piece of toast. As soon as they were alone again, Victoire ran her hands over her face. " _Merlin_."

"Look at you, cock-blocking Harry Potter."

She sent Teddy a pointed glare. "Er, _no_ ," she said, leaning on the table. "I'm just starved of human interaction. I spent three months living out in the Transylvanian countryside doing whatever I pleased, and now I'm _stuck_ inside this stuffy old house for weeks on end. I'm restless," she said, getting to her feet. "How has he _not_ noticed we're back together?"

Teddy grinned toothily, pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it over his shoulder. Victoire's eyes travelled down his torso—she hadn't seen him properly in a state of undress, as all their night-time fumblings happened in the shadowy recesses of the attic. Her eyes now roamed hungrily, tracing the curved quote inked between his ribs to the rippling muscles in his abdomen.

"I don't start work at the ice cream parlour until twelve," he said, grabbing a chocolate frog from inside the jar he and Victoire had started a few days earlier. He tossed the _Albus Dumbledore_ card aside before biting the head off the frog with a loud crack. Victoire pursed her lips, watching him. "I was thinking of going back to bed, if you were in the mood for a lie down."

"You punched me in the face," she replied evenly.

"That was an _accident_."

"Maybe if I tie your hands behind your back we can avoid accidents."

"Trust me," Teddy said, raising his eyebrows. "You'll want the full use of my hands."

Victoire nodded slowly, her expression totally straight. "Okay," she agreed, following him into the hall. They snuck as quietly as they could past the curtained portrait opposite the stairs, and crept up past the first floor. They stopped on the staircase, underneath the series of morbid plaques that showed the decapitated heads of old Black family house-elves, unable to keep themselves from kissing each other. Victoire snaked her hands around Teddy's chest, sliding her arms around his neck as he leaned down to kiss her. His fingers fumbled with the drawstring of her cotton pyjama trousers until they were loose, slipping one hand under the elasticised waistband.

They now stumbled their way up the second flight, thumping onto the landing's banister as Teddy pulled aside her knickers. They paused there for a while, until Victoire's knees had weakened to the point where she needed something beneath them in order for Teddy to continue his exploits. Her legs were already shaking too much to move, but she didn't want to finish with the sight of a decapitated elf head staring at her from the landing below. "My room's on this floor," she gasped, aware that the ascent to the attic was impossible at this stage. Teddy got the hint, slipping his wet fingers out of her pants and hitching her legs up around his waist, his hands grasping her bottom for balance. As smooth as this gesture was, he still accidentally head-butted Victoire in the process, their forehead's colliding as he jolted her onto his waist.

"Shit, I am _so_ sorry—"

"Are you trying to concuss me?" Victoire grunted, silencing his impending round of apologies by putting her lips against his.

They made it across the short distance of the hallway and into Victoire's room, where he laid her across the two twin beds she had pushed together, her hair fanning out like a halo behind her head. Teddy kneeled between her knees, tugging off her trousers.

Until of course, a voice interrupted him.

"This sort of indecency is unacceptable. Honestly, young people seem to think they can act like animals."

Teddy looked up sharply, but the door was still closed. Victoire tangled her fingers in his blue hair, arching her back in an effort to reach him. "It's fine," she reassured him, her eyes still closed. But Teddy was positive he had finally lost it, for he had _definitely_ heard a disapproving, male voice from inside this room.

As Victoire tugged off her green singlet, in an attempt to remind Teddy why they were here after all, the voice spoke again. "Young lady, where is your modesty? Are you even betrothed to this blue-haired varmint?"

"Who in Merlin's name _is_ that?" Teddy spluttered, sitting up wildly. He could feel the heat crawling around his neck as he looked around the room.

"Phineas," she grunted in frustration, sitting up abruptly. "If you're not keen on watching then _leave_."

She was speaking to a portrait that hung opposite their bed, a muddy brown backdrop shown inside a gold frame. Teddy looked as if he really doubted his sanity, until the face of a wizard with a pointed beard and grey eyes protruded from the edge of the frame.

"It's not about whether I wish to watch or not, you strumpet. Whether I am in this frame of the Headmaster's office, I am not comfortable knowing that two people are acting with the modesty of mountain trolls right in front of my portrait."

Victoire's leaned over and grabbed her wand off the nightstand, aiming it at the portrait. " _Obscuro_!"

Phineas shrieked, a blindfold covering his clever eyes and causing him to stumble over his green and silver robes. Victoire tossed the wand onto the mattress before fiddling with the zipper of Teddy's jeans. He wriggled out of them before leaning down once more to kiss her taut stomach. Both Victoire and the mattress moaned as he moved down her body, but all Teddy was conscious of was the undignified squawks and curses of the man in the portrait behind him, which only seemed to grow louder and more disgusted as Victoire's moans escalated as well. As Phineas began a small tirade about the depravity of youth, Teddy stopped at an uncharacteristically unkind moment. Victoire's hips actually curved off the bed as if to follow him.

"This isn't bothering you?" he demanded, motioning to the portrait of the blindfolded former Headmaster, whose voice was now quivering with vexation. "I'm sorry, I _can't_ concentrate with him calling you a strumpet and a tramp."

Victoire fumbled for her wand again, but this time she pointed it at the small gramophone that sat on her bureau. A disc began to turn under the scratchy needle, followed by the latest Ministry Of Madness song, which filled the entire room with so much sound that not even Phineas could hear himself. It was what Teddy had called watered-down indie pop shit. The music was so loud, it was embodied within them both, vibrating through the bed.

"Better?" Victoire yelled, falling limp onto the bed again.

"Loads," Teddy grinned, getting back to work.

* * *

Harry sat at the dinning room table in a state of undress, his shirt still somewhere in the hallway and his glasses askew. He was pursuing the _Daily Prophet_ that lay on the kitchen table while Ginny reclasped her bra, waiting for the kettle to boil.

A wireless sat in the corner, state-of-the-art and brand-spanking new. Ginny had put the volume as low as she could, but the consistent hum of the reporter could be heard under the bubbling of the kettle.

"Merlin, I've missed having you here," Ginny sighed, Summoning a robe with her wand. She tugged it on and did up the belt, allowing it to fall loosely around her shoulders. "It used to just be we had to wait until the kids were back at school before we had the house to ourselves, but now I'm here all alone."

"You can always drop by to see me," Harry suggested, sliding the newspaper aside ( _Metal Hard To Source As Goblin Strikes Continue For Second Week)_ and facing his wife. "That is, if you want to risk stumbling in on Teddy and Victoire and their public displays of affection."

"Ah," Ginny said, smiling as she poured the mugs full of hot water. Steam bellowed up around her face. "So they haven't made it official, yet?"

"Well, I haven't been able to sleep with them going at it all night," Harry supplied, getting up to retrieve the tea bags. "But no, they've yet to outright say it. I'm not sure what they're waiting for."

"Maybe for this war to be over," Ginny said, smiling half-heartedly.

"In that case, I shouldn't hold my breath," Harry sighed, adding a dollop of milk to their mugs. He leaned in to kiss Ginny again, although both their mouths still felt raw from the hour earlier. "If there's one thing war does, it's bringing people together."

"Too true," she agreed, handing him the mug.

Harry's head twitched towards the Wireless, which was now broadcasting a short trumpet refrain before plunging into the news. He tweaked up the volume nob.

" _…_ _are encouraged to inform Ministry officials if they know of any Squibs who have not volunteered for the Program. We are now crossing live to Prime Minister Gladstone and goblin advisor Grigarex to discuss the topic further."_

"They have talk shows like this all day," Ginny said, falling into her seat, nursing the mug of tea in her hands. "They pre-record the panellists and then play the shows throughout the week."

"… _looking out for the best interests of the public_ ," Gladstone's amiable voice rumbled. " _Those who suffer from magical maladies that are_ _considered incurable can be granted a merciful death."_

 _"_ _You wish to extend this program to others who are in great suffering due to magical conditions. Is that true?"_

 _"_ _Ultimately, we would like anyone with an incurable disease or condition to come forward, especially werewolves, who have very little quality of life. We are now offering adult Squibs the opportunity for compulsory sterilisation, so they do not pass this condition through their bloodlines. In two generations, we will have a magical society that can participate equally in skillset and abilities."_

 _"_ _It's a wonderful vision."_

 _"_ _Yes, Glenda, it is. Many Squibs have already come forward, but we stress the need for all people born without magical abilities to enter the program. It is now a criminal offence not to."_

 _"_ _And the Squib-Prevention potion will help this effort?"_ the host, Glenda, prompted.

 _"_ _Of course. The potion eliminates the chances of having a child born without magical abilities. I'm sure every mother can agree that this is for the best."_

"How do you listen to this all day?" Harry asked, glaring at the radio as it emitted the chirpy sounding voice of the host.

"It's driving me mad," Ginny agreed. "Silencing Charms don't work, but Percy managed to rip his one apart. He got issued a huge fine in the mail right afterwards, and they sent repair-wizards around the next day."

" _And where did this idea come from?"_

Now, it was Grigarex who spoke in his slick, smooth voice. His accent curled the words, making them sound harsher. " _The goblins have long practiced eugenics. It is necessary to create a society where all are equal and can contribute equally to the workload of the Kingdom. When our wives produce offspring that appear weak or deformed, we throw the children into a chasm. It is best to end their suffering as infants, as opposed to living a life where they are shunned and unable to contribute to their community."_

 _"_ _A merciful death,"_ Gladstone intervened in his practiced rumbled, releasing a low chuckle to break the tension. " _Of course, we euthanize our patients with a simple and painless potion. It is a variation on The Draught of Living Death, brewed particularly for this purpose."_

 _"_ _Wonderful, how potions have improved the lives of so many."_

Harry stood, crossing to the Wireless to turn the knob down as low as it would go. Still, he could hear the whispering crackle of Gladstone in response.

" _We do not see a need to act without humanity. In fact, we carry out what we do for the good of humanity as a whole."_

Harry twisted the tuning knob, flicking onto the next channel instead. He caught the end of a shanty before a host spoke. " _And that was 'Mountain Mourning' composed by Alfonso Banks. The piece was commissioned by Elliot Nott for the Gladstone Benefit Ball held early this year in_ _The Dumbledore Creative Arts Centre."_ Harry twisted the knob again, where he was met with some squealing static until he found a talk show where two men were discussing the front cover of the _Prophet_.

" _The strikes have meant that we haven't been able to get our hands on any iron ores. What does that mean for the economy, Samuel?"_

 _"_ _Well, it'll effect the manufacturing of brooms, cauldrons and other goods first, but it's biggest impact—_ "

"This is mental," Harry snapped, turning to face his wife, who only stared at the radio in a glazed sort of way. Until now, he had hated the creaky silence of Grimmauld Place. He was now craving it. "I feel like blowing the thing to pieces!"

"They'll send you a fine," Ginny said flatly. "And then come around to fix it. After a while, you adjust to it."

He twisted the dial aggressively, trying to find a channel that was only static. Instead, the dial bounced back to the first channel with reception, which happened to be the one they started on. As the sound of Gladstone's voice, Harry thumped the Wireless before walking around, shaking his head furiously. He suddenly froze, staring at the radio, which continued to hum with voices. His eyebrows knitted together. "How do they know if you've meddled with it?"

"I dunno," Ginny shrugged, getting to her feet. "It must be charmed. Like the Trace. You do magic underage and you get the letter."

"But how would that work exactly…" Harry said slowly, stepping closer to the radio. "I mean, we can basically hear them twenty-four-seven. What if they can hear…"

He broke off, heading across to the sitting room, where he grabbed his Invisibility Cloak off the sofa. Ginny followed after him. "What?" she demanded.

"What if its two-way?" Harry whispered. "Like Sirius' mirror or our amulets. What if we hear them but they can also hear us?"

"How would that even work?" Ginny said, repeating what Harry had asked a few minutes earlier. "How would that—"

She broke off as there was a knock on the door, sharp and measured. Harry swore, wrapping the cloak around his half dressed body. Ginny pointed her wand at the doors that led onto the back deck, unlocking them. If he were to Apparate, he needed to be well off the property. They had anti-Apparition spells all around the premises. Her husband vanished before her eyes, but managed to knock a stack of books off the coffee table as he legged it through the back door. Ginny closed them behind him, just as another set of knocking rapped through the door.

"Coming," she called, her voice high. She locked the doors and sprinted over to the front door, opening it in a hurry. To her shock, it was Claudia Coy, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Beside her was Selgrut the Sly.

Ginny stood there in her loose satin robe, her magenta bra strip slipping down her shoulder. She hastily pulled it back up.

"Hi," Ginny said, staring at them both. "I don't—sorry, I just got up."

"We need to come in, Mrs Potter," Selgrut said, crossing the threshold without pausing. Claudia Coy held up a search warrant as if to prove the point. Ginny shut the door behind them, her heart pounding.

"I don't understand why you're here," she said, looking at the mess that was the living room.

"Were you home alone just now, Mrs Potter?" Claudia Coy said.

"Y-yes. I'm home alone most days since the kids are at school."

"And you didn't have a visitor?"

Ginny froze as the hit witch raised her want and said " _Homenum Revelio_." A gentle wind seemed to pass over the space, through the rooms, but nothing happened. Ginny was beginning to get her heart rate down.

"Why would you think I'd have a visitor?" she said, her voice narrow and drawn.

"We had a tip off," Coy replied.

Selgrut leaned down, picking up a black shirt with the tip of his knife. He held it up to Ginny.

"Whose is this?"

"No one's," she said, moving forward to bunch it into her fist. She was usually far quicker thinking than this, but there was no improvisation that could patch up this scenario. She could feel the blood rushing to her face, steadily turning it scarlet. Her discomfiture only seemed to confirm their suspicions. So, she said the one thing that could explain this situation without dragging Harry into it and potentially getting herself arrested. "I'm having an affair!"

Claudia Coy almost dropped her wand. "What?"

"Well, Harry's just _left_ us, hasn't he? He tried to kill _you_ ," she said, gesturing to a stunned Selgrut, "and then he just skipped out on us! I haven't heard a word from him in months and, well, things eventuated with someone else. I'm not proud of it, but what was there to do?"

She hadn't called Harry by his name once while in the kitchen, but he had mentioned Victoire, and maybe that had been enough to tip-off whoever was listening into their conversation. She felt a little green, thinking that everything she had voice allowed in that space had been monitored. Perhaps it was a good thing she had been home alone for a while.

"An _affair_ —" Claudia Coy began dubiously.

"Rolf Scamander!" Ginny yelped, her face now burning like a stop sign. "One of my best friend's husbands! I'm not proud of it. It's been one big _mess_ but I needed comfort, and he's been visiting me because I'm here all alone…Rolf's so… _understanding_. And wild. He left just now, actually. We were in the kitchen having tea after we had—well, _you know_ ," she said, raising her eyebrows at the t-shirt in her hand and the scattered books across the carpet. "And then we heard the knock. I thought maybe it was my brother or my mum, so I sent him packing! If anyone found out…Luna would be devastated."

Ginny stood there, feeling as undignified as she looked, prattling on about Rolf Scamander.

* * *

"Is your mum sleeping with Rolf Scamander?" Imogen asked, sliding the Society Section of the _Prophet_ over to Albus. He sat up, almost upsetting his pumpkin juice, as he took the paper and saw the headline, followed by two separate pictures of Rolf Scamander and his mother, both side-by-side inside a heart.

"What the _hell_?"

"Mate," Lorcan crowed, throwing a burly arm around James, who was pursuing the same article about six people down the Gryffindor table. "We're going to be step-brothers!"

"This is utter rubbish," Albus said, scanning the article. "It's written by Rita Skeeter."

Lily was already rushing over to meet him, her expression pained. "Have you heard the rumours?"

"They're _rumours_ , Lily," Albus said, rolling the newspaper up. "So no need to fret."

"But half the time rumours turn out true," Lily quailed, looking quite distraught.

Albus laid a hand flat on her shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. "I can _swear_ to you that mum would never sleep with Rolf Scamander. I'd be willing to bet my broomstick."

Lily's brow was still crumpled together. "If Lorcan becomes our step-brother, I'll _die_. It's bad enough being related to James!"

"Go sit down. No one is becoming anyone's step-anything!"

Lily sniffed, returning to her seat beside Hugo, where they both returned to a low and rapid conversation. He glanced across the Great Hall, where the Slytherin table was situated. He spotted Rose's red curly mane, but she was not alone or with Zabini, which he had come to expect over breakfasts. Instead, she was sitting beside Scorpius, and they appeared to be having a one-sided argument. Albus tucked the newspaper under his arm and headed across the Hall.

"You can't _actually_ be considering her. It'll throw the whole team dynamic off!"

"I told you already, Rose. I'll consider everyone equally."

"You shouldn't be _considering her at all_ ," Rose was half shouting. "It's a simple no. Mumps has played on the team for _two years_."

"Are you arguing about Meredith?" Albus said, as he arrived before them both.

Rose crossed her arms, looking deeply surly. Scorpius only rolled his eyes. "We're arguing about Alice Lim actually."

"Her ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend are both on the team. Do you really think we'll play together well with that level of friction?" Rose said, in her best attempt at sounding reasonable.

"Stop _badgering_ me, Rose. I already said, I will do what's best for the team!"

Albus took the disgruntled silence as a chance to get a word in edgewise. "Have you seen the _Prophet_?"

"Yeah," Scorpius mumbled, spearing a sausage. "There's a strike in the goblin mines."

"No, the Society Pages."

Both Scorpius and Rose looked up at him, bemused. "The only person who reads the society pages is my Aunt Daphne."

"Well, my mum will provide good fodder for her gossip," Albus said, handing over the paper. The two Slytherins crowded over it, their eyes darting over the article.

"Merlin," Rose crowed, crossing her legs. "Skeeter is at it again. She's venomous."

"If anyone can twist a relationship to fit a headline, it's her," Albus agreed.

Both Scorpius and Rose glanced at each other nervously at this. Rose grabbed her bag and climbed over the bench.

"I should probably go. I have Ancient Runes first up."

"Hey," Albus said, taking a step towards her. "You should chat to Angus Finnigan."

"Oh, for Godric's sake, I said I would chat to Angus Finnigan."

"Well, have you chatted to Angus Finnigan?" Scorpius prodded.

"No. But I will. I swear, I will. I _promise_."

* * *

Rose partnered with Finnigan for Defence Against The Dark Arts as promised. Partly because she had made this promise so many times it was beginning to sound semantically absurd, and partly because Albus sat with Imogen and Scorpius sat with Isabella immediately upon entering the classroom, leaving her with few options.

It was not that she was _intentionally_ avoiding the Gryffindor—they had never been more than acquaintances, friends of friends. They shared no epic bond beyond childhood birthday parties and the occasional friendly Quidditch match. But Angus Finnigan—weedy and quiet and always wearing black—made Rose feel as if she had swallowed a plastic bag by mistake. Grief hung around him like a fog, making it hard to breathe. She had no idea what to say to him because she was the least tactful person in the world.

Still, she slid into the spot beside him and got out her textbooks. Angus looked up at her, his brown eyes flickering with surprise. She brushed a stray curl behind her ear and glanced back at him.

"Alright, Angus?"

She felt stupid asking this for he so clearly was not, but he surprised her by saying, "Yeah, I'm ace."

Professor Sharma took that moment to rap the bored with her wand, sending the chalk into a frenzy.

"Today, we'll be looking at the three Unforgivable Curses," Professor Sharma said in her clear, sharp voice. Rose felt herself break out into a sweat. Under other circumstances, the topic would have excited her. But she was suddenly conscious of every movement and sound Angus made, from his sharp inhalation to his bunched shoulders. Why were they forcing _her_ to talk to him?

"I'm sure you're all familiar with the Curses, but let's start with the first. Which is?" She pointed at Zabini, who relaxed back into his seat. For once, he knew the answer.

"The Cruciatus Curse. It tortures the victim."

"Yes, considering that the curse does not physically harm the victim, it is understood that it only stimulates pain receptors. Of course, this can be more dangerous than physically harming someone. Why is that?"

Albus raised his hand attentively and waited until Professor Sharma nodded in his direction. "When someone is physically harmed, they will usually lose consciousness either from blood loss or because their bodies can't take the pain. But the body isn't being harmed with the Cruciatus, so it can go on for ages. Until the person loses their mind."

Again, Angus shifted in the periphery of Rose's vision. She looked towards him, noticing that he was doodling a row of diamonds across the top of his parchment. His sandy hair fell into his eyes. The rest of the class discussion, about the intent of the caster and the effectiveness of the curse, was lost in a blur of sound.

"Angus, how have you been dealing with your dad dying?" Rose asked bluntly but quietly, so that Sonia Selwyn and Toby Fleischer would not overhear from the table in front of them. Angus didn't look up from his doodles; the only indication he had heard her was that he was chewing on his cheek.

"Our family was really close," he said quietly. "Like you are with yours. Me brothers, me dad and mam, we were tight-knit. So, I had to get out of the house as soon as I could. It just felt wrong being there when he wasn't."

"But being here hasn't helped, has it?"

"Not with everyone walking on dragonshells," he murmured, dipping his quill in ink. Across the top of the page, he wrote, _The Imperius Curse._ The class had moved onto the next point of discussion.

"Make sure to write this down, now—the Imperius Curse _can_ be resisted which makes it unique among the Unforgivable Curses. Like Occlumency, resistance requires a highly focused mind and a great amount of willpower."

"You know," Angus said, suddenly looking up to face her. "Me older brother Rowan is joining the Order."

Rose's eyes widened, and she immediately regretted this unconcealed expression. Angus did not seem offended by her surprise. "So soon afterwards?" she prompted.

"Molly invited him."

"Of _course_ she did," she huffed, returning to jot down the notes on the blackboard. "How did your mum take it?"

"She forbid him from going, of course. But he says he's an adult and can do whatever he likes. Typical Gryffindor attitude," he added, rolling his eyes.

He hadn't smiled once during their exchange, but something had loosened in Finnigan's shoulders. His eyes were less clouded. The rise and fall of his Irish lilt made it sound like he was murmuring along to a sea shanty, and the fair hair on his arms caught in the light like silk threads. He was more than just flesh and bone, skin and muscle. He was soul. Rose was able to paint a fuller picture of this boy, and what he carried of his father inside of him.

"The curse kills without injury or pain," Professor Sharma said, pacing before the chalkboard. "However, we still regard it as the worst of the three. Taking a life is considered Unforgivable for obvious reasons. But taking that life with a spell that cannot be blocked or prevented is merely cowardice. There has only been one known survivor of the Curse, and that was Harry Potter."

Almost everyone's heads turned towards Albus, who was dutifully pretending to write down his notes. Rose turned to look at him also, but not to goggle or make a snarky remark. A part of her was wondering what would happen if someone she loved were to die. Only her uncle had been able to evade the Killing Curse more than once. Angus' father certainly hadn't, and she was sure that her father would not be able to if he came in the firing line of that great, green beast of a curse. It occurred to Rose that she had _so_ many people in her life whom she cared for—her brother, her parents, her cousins and uncles and aunts—that the idea of any of them dying seemed to grind every other thought to a stop. If any of them _were_ to die, how would life continue to go on afterwards?

Professor Sharma followed with a pop quiz, throwing out questions that Rose knew the answer to but didn't answer ( _In what period were the Curses first invented, when were they first banned by the ministry?_ ). Instead, she stared at the piece of enchanted chalk that scribbled across the board, the handwriting that looked like the peaks of a muggle heart monitor. Rose had never lost anyone near to her, so it was impossible to understand what Angus was going through. But imagining it was unbearable. Imagining it was enough to explain why he never showed even a hint of a smile anymore. For that reason alone, she took his hand at the end of class and gave it a squeeze before collecting her books.

* * *

When Rose entered the common room that evening after dinner, she found a small crowd gathered around the noticeboard. She dropped her bag on a nearby chair and headed towards the back of the room, but had only made it past the grandfather clock when Toby Fleischer grabbed her shoulders firmly and steered her away.

"Whoa there, Weasley," he said, as if she were a horse. "Let's take a moment to calm ourselves."

Rose blinked at her classmate in confusion before craning her neck over his shoulder. Scorpius was at the board, pinning something to it. The moment he had, the small mob rushed forward to read it.

"I'm calm," she said. "Our teammates were chosen?" She tried to move around her fellow Beater to get to the list, but he grabbed hold of her shoulder and pushed her firmly into a chair.

"I'm just saying, you may wish to prepare yourself," Fleischer said, his startling blue eyes as piercing as spotlights.

"I'm in!" Meredith cried, pushing through the group clustered around the noticeboard. She threw herself into Betty Fink's arms, squealing with excitement.

There was mixed sounds of surprise and disappointment from the fellow Slytherins gathered. A few others pressed against the crowd to read the sheet, whether they had tried out or not. Sterling was making his way over to the Beaters. He winced a little, his narrow face squirming.

"Strong team but Malfoy was gutsy lining us up. If he honestly thinks he can get us to gel, I'll be impressed."

"What?" Rose said anxiously, trying to rise out of her chair again. "Is this about Meredith or—"

"Malfoy, are you messing with us?" Tim Buckingham snapped, turning on the Captain. Scorpius was inferior to Buckingham based on age, but he also held a privileged title over him. This seemed to even the playing field a little.

"I told you, Buckey. I gave everyone a fair shot."

Stewart Mumps was pushing past both the boys, his head ducked as he made a beeline to the dormitory. It was a look of rejection he wore, and Rose was completely befuddled as she tried to make sense of it. If Mumps, with his two years of experience, had been dropped from the team, then that meant there were two roles for Chaser that needed to be filled. As Rose came to this conclusion, she suddenly understood Buckingham's anger and the trepidation everyone was aiming at her.

"Alice _Lim_ got in?" she demanded, her eyes scouting the room to find her. But Alice wasn't there, whether to avoid getting mobbed or because she didn't know she had made the cut. Rose went for the next best thing, which was her Captain. She shouldered past Fleischer and stormed over to Scorpius, who was looking increasingly weary. "You told me you would do what was _best for the team_ ," she said, her voice rising tremulously.

"And I did," Scorpius insisted, looking between she and Buckingham. "We relied on Mumps because he knew the game, but Alice was a better flier and she has the build for a Chaser."

"She's also feuding with two of your teammates," Rose replied cuttingly. "Did it occur to you that may be problematic?"

"Well, you lot will have to get over it. Quidditch comes before any personal issues."

"That's easy for _you_ to say," Buckingham snapped.

"Oi," Scorpius yelled, instantly reasserting his dominance. "I dropped my own roommate from the team so I could do what would give us the best chance at winning. We need to think about Slytherin as a whole and put our petty personal loyalties aside. Both of you need to get over yourselves and keep your drama off my pitch. That's final."

He stepped around Rose and Buckingham, heading for the dorms instead. Rose swore under her breath, but before she could make up her mind on the best course of action, the rest of the team had assembled around her—including Meredith.

"Alice was good," Sterling reasoned. "She sort of came out of nowhere."

"She's the one to watch," Fleischer agreed.

"But she's new to the game, she's never played before," Buckingham reasoned, doing his best to remain pessimistic. "We'll be training her from scratch, which is a waste of time."

"We'll be training Meredith from scratch anyway," Sterling disagreed. "Might as well kill two birds with one stone."

Meredith only beamed at each of them in turn, bouncing slightly on her heels from excitement. Rose placed her hand on top of her head to stop the bouncing.

"I can put my personal differences with Alice aside," Rose said evenly. "But if she starts drama with me during a match, I _will_ hex her."

"House unity at it's finest," Sterling sighed, shaking his head. "Whatever. Let's just do our best not to piss Malfoy off. I don't have time to fly extra laps as punishment, my study schedule is busy as it is."

The group dispersed, with Meredith still bouncing along in everyone's wake, too enthusiastic to keep still. Rose finished her homework beside Zabini, who spent most of the evening convincing her to play it cool with Alice. When she finally made her way to bed, certain that she was completely cool-headed, she found Alice being attacked by someone else entirely.

"I don't see why you even tried out," Estelle Urquhart was saying, fluffing her pillow pugnaciously.

Alice and Estelle had always been at odds, even before a boy had been thrown into the mix. They were polar opposites in every sense. Where Estelle was all things girly, Alice liked sports and alternative rock music. Estelle was extroverted and striking, Alice was easily overlooked and unnoticed. Alice was a typical, cynical wallflower. Estelle was as popular as she was ruthless. The only thing they had in common was how much they both enjoyed arguing.

Even when arguing, Estelle went for the loud aggressive route, always keeping on the offensive with a barrage of bombastic accusations. "This was all just to get back at me, wasn't it? You've always been _jealous_ of me, ever since first year. You just hated that I got more attention that you, that I got Buckingham when you didn't. And now you want revenge."

As always, Alice's tactic were to keep silent until she had the chance for a barbed and often well-formulated retort. "You're not nearly so important to me, Urquhart."

And this is how the fight continued; with long one-sided monologues from Estelle followed by short and rather pithy responses from Alice. Rose noticed rather guiltily that Alice did not look in the least bit happy to be on the team. There was no air of celebration around her.

"Can you just lay off her?" Isabella demanded, glaring across at Estelle. Usually, everyone relied on Isabella to play the diplomat, but she had renounced this role ever since the rowing had ensued before the summer. In fact, she was staunchly on Alice's side. "Why even pick a fight when you know you're _wrong_."

"I'm not wrong!" Estelle yelled. Sonia Selwyn, who only ever showered in the mornings, had disappeared into the en suite bathroom for a very long time. Rose wondered whether drawing her curtains shut around her bed would be considered inflammatory. "The only reason she joined the stupid team is to try and win Tim Buckingham back!"

"Oh, _please_ ," Alice said, rolling her dark eyes.

"Are you really going to deny it? It's been your plan all along! You want him to leave me and come back to you and you think spending sweaty nights on the Quidditch pitch will be your chance to get back together with him!"

Alice half stood on her bed, looking furious for the first time since the fight began. "I did this for _me_ , Estelle! For the first time ever, I did something completely for me! This isn't about _you_ and it's certainly not about Tim Buckingham! I couldn't give a damn about Tim Buckingham, frankly. For once, this was just about doing something for me." She drew in a very deep breath before falling back onto the balls of her feet. "So, for once, shut the _hell_ up."

For once, Estelle did. Alice drew the curtains about her bed and left it at that. A few minutes later, Sonia crept out of the bathroom, getting beneath her own sheets as quietly as possible. No one wanted to disturb this very tentative peace. But Rose smiled to herself anyway, almost cockily, enough so that Estelle looked offended and also shut the curtains around her four-poster.

Alice may not have liked Rose, but Rose certainly liked Alice. Or at least, she liked this new and improved Alice that was taking shape before her eyes.

* * *

As Gladstone's hold on the Ministry was getting tighter, the Order's numbers were swelling. People on the peripheries of society were frightened. Those who did not meet the Ministry's standards of usefulness were being snuffed out like candles. People were being watched and they were starting to realise it. It wasn't just the Squibs and the Werewolves being monitored any longer. Everyday people feared their neighbours, feared their colleagues. People who bad-mouthed the Ministry would find the Elite Squad at their doorstep the following day. The mood for revolution had quickly turned to one of fear, especially with rumours that their post was being checked and their Wirelesses were being bugged.

Most Squibs were attempting to leave the country surreptitiously, a project that Luna and Rolf were heading up. The Order had assignment their youngest recruits to this task, knowing it would keep them out of trouble. Smuggling Squibs out of the country meant finding them wands and getting them the proper paperwork. Squibs that had been settled in the muggle world were being hunted down by the Elite Quad, and forced into the sterilization program to ensure their bloodlines would end.

More concerning still were the werewolves. The Free Wolfsbane Potion had now been axed, Gladstone citing the enormous financial burden this placed on the Ministry as the cause—money that could be otherwise spent on improving the lives of the majority. Werewolves were being issued letters to turn themselves into the Ministry, and if the letter did not receive a response within thirty days, the Elite Squad would arrive to arrest them.

"This is the _exact_ reason I was against the Werewolf Welfare Initiative," Hermione said, slapping her hand against Grimmauld Place's kitchen table. "Forcing werewolves to register all their personal information—it was just a way to find out who they are and where they live!"

Selima had joined them, her first proper Order meeting. She was a stranger to the other members, so only Teddy noticed the weight she had lost, the heaviness of her dreadlocks, the new scars on her neck and arms. She looked frail, deflated, her eyes dull.

"Have you been issued your letter, Selima?" Bill asked, looking steadily at their newest member.

Selima pressed her lips together and folded her frail wrists in her lap. "Three days ago. My friend, Ralph, received his about a week ago so I've been expecting mine since then."

"If they're euthanizing werewolves then we can be certain it's happening at the Ministry," Ron said, nodding at the large blueprints Percy had brought with him to the meeting. "It's gotta be. That's where they're summoning them."

"What floor?" Ginny pulled the papers towards her. "The Beast division? It's where the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures is located."

As the speculation ensued, Harry motioned across the table to Reuben Reid. Today, he had arrived in the disguise of an androgynous body, thin and wiry, long matted hair looped into a bun and his gold rings on each thumb. It was the most disconcerting look yet, because the delicacy of his features did not dull the shrewdness of his eyes. Reid joined him at the other end, crouching down so Harry could speak quietly.

"I know that you don't know what happens in the Department of Mysteries unless it's the task you're working on. But what's the chance that they're euthanizing people on level nine?"

Reid thought about this for a moment, his blue eyes darting over Harry's face. "I'd say it's likely," he said. "I'd put my money on the Death Chamber."

"The room with the dais?"

"It's where they study all things related to Death. I wouldn't be able to tell you much about it. I've never been in there," Reid added.

"I have," Harry said quietly, thinking of the exact place. He turned back to the other Order members, who were still arguing whether the Ministry could carry out mass-murder in an office. "We may have to start planning an invasion of the Ministry," Harry said.

"Brilliant," Ginny replied, sitting up a little. "This is what I've been hoping for. Are you going to scout the Beast Division?"

"We'll need to do this carefully," Harry replied, leaning over the map of the Ministry. "It'll mean breaking into the Department of Mysteries, which is an enormous risk. We'll be having a select group working on this."

The mention of the Department of Mysteries brought an air of fear over the other members of the Order. Angelina spoke up, her voice unsteady. "Harry, there's no way we can get in and out of the Department of Mysteries. We're pushing our luck getting _into_ the Ministry to begin with."

"You don't think the Goblins aren't just killing them and tipping them into a hole somewhere?" Ron asked bluntly.

"They wouldn't," Harry said, shaking his head. "Gladstone will avoid directly killing. He doesn't like the idea of taking a life. Why do you think he's posed this whole program as voluntary?"

"I dunno. To fool the public?" Ron shrugged.

"Killing rips the soul a part," Harry said, thinking of the day he first discovered the magic behind Horcruxes.

"He doesn't want to be responsible for these people's deaths," Hermione elaborated out loud as this dawned on her, too. "He wants them to volunteer so he can be absolved of the blame."

"Murder has powerful magical effects," Harry explained. "Almost as powerful as Love. Although Gladstone's policies make it clear he has an utter disregard for the sanctity of life, he doesn't want the Ministry leading lambs to the slaughter."

"If this is taking place in the Department of Mysteries," Reid spoke up, standing by Harry's chair, "then I can assure you it will be taking place in the most clinical way possible."

"Alright," Harry said, preparing to dismiss everyone. "We'll begin preparing for this, although I reckon it'll take us a while to figure out how to get past the Ministry's security. In the meantime, we'll start sheltering as many werewolves as we can in Grimmauld Place."

Since the meeting had began, Teddy spoke up for the first time. "Sheltering them here? Without a Wolfsbane Potion? Harry, that's mental."

"He's right, I'm not doing that," Selima said firmly. "Locked doors haven't been all that effective in the past."

"It's the only Unplottable headquarters' we have."

Ginny sat up, her spine ramrod straight. Her eyes had widened with a sudden idea. " _Not_ true. Ron, what about Muriel?"

"Oh, bless her crippled old heart," Ron said, his eyes also widening. "She left it to mum, didn't she?"

"What?" Hermione blinked.

"Our great aunt Muriel owned an Unplottable house in Devon and it's basically been abandoned ever since she passed away a decade ago," Ron explained, speaking rapidly. "Why don't we use that? It's literally in the middle of nowhere."

"Perfect for transforming on a full moon," Ginny added quickly, nodding to Selima. When she didn't look convinced, she turned to Harry. "Think of it like the Shrieking Shack."

"I suppose we can check it out and make any adjustments we need," Harry admitted.

"I'll have a word to mum and get it sorted," George volunteered.

"Look at that, Muriel came in handy after all," Ron said, nodding with some awe. Hermione swatted him.

They ended the meeting there, although (as usual) Victoire and Harry went to pains to make sure everyone stayed. Victoire had baked muffins, which she insisted everyone try, and Harry was quick to start up a conversation with George and Angelina to stop them from leaving.

Selima stood alone, drumming her fingers on the back of her chair. She watched them move, eyes fixed on the tattoos that danced over her knuckles. No one had approached her until Teddy tapered across the room to join her, trailing his fingers over the table as he did.

"Hey."

She looked up sharply, her gaunt face all angles. Still, she offered him a genuine smile. "I bought you a present," she said, leaning down to fumble in her bag. As she did, Teddy noticed the newer scars on her neck. She retrieved a brown paper package and handed it to him. Whatever was inside was soft. He tucked it under his arm awkwardly. "Cheers."

Selima looked across the room, studying Victoire where she was speaking to Lee Jordan, offering him some of her baked goods. Teddy noticed that she was an utter contrast to Selima, and not just in the obvious fairness and darkness of skin and hair. What really stood out was how strong and healthy Victoire looked. The only blemish on her body was the scar across her collarbone; despite her arms being covered in tatted sleeves, Selima could not disguise her scars.

"That's her, isn't it? The one you pined over for months. The one you tattooed the name of under your ribs."

"That's her," Teddy agreed, also watching Victoire.

"I've seen her in magazines. Back when you two used to make it into the paper for snogging," Selima scoffed, still staring. "She's prettier than I expected."

Teddy thought of all those papers and magazines they had found themselves in over the years; all those Rita Skeeter articles outlandishly describing their amorous behaviour and rowdy drinking at whichever sporting or music event she was supposed to be covering. That entire part of their life felt like a million years ago. Now, they were more likely to end up in the tabloids with bounties over their heads. Just as Teddy was thinking this, Victoire glanced over. Teddy quickly looked away, turning back to Selima.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Brilliant. Not pleased to be leaving the tattoo parlour."

"For how many cycles have you been off the Wolfbane Potion?" he asked.

"Just one," she replied miserably. Her fingers moved from the chair to her hair, gripping her dreadlocks and dragging them over her shoulder, exposing the knobby bones in the back of her neck. "I forgot how much it hurts to be a werewolf. I also didn't realise how badly you go into withdrawal after taking the Wolfsbane."

"I'm sorry," Teddy said, because he felt miserable for her. Living with her while she had been taking the Potion had been bad enough. The idea that the experience could be even worse was nauseating. "You should really try my girlfriend's chocolate muffins. Chocolate is supposed to help in dire situations, I hear."

Selima's eyes had returned to Victoire, who was now making her way over to them. "I would love to try your girlfriend's muffin," she said solemnly.

Victoire came to a stop in front of the pair, only just having missed Selima's comment, which Teddy could only be grateful for. She held the plate of muffins in outstretched hands. There was something almost painful in her smile, which was far too toothy. "Hi Selima. Please, take a muffin." Selima took one, her fingers as thin as spider legs. Victoire went on imploringly, "I'm Victoire Weasley by the way. We haven't properly met but Teddy's mentioned you a lot."

"I've seen you around before," Selima acknowledged, peeling the cupcake wrapper down. "You're very pretty."

Teddy almost wished he had talked over them both. Not only because Victoire's politeness bordered on weird, but because Selima had said the one thing Victoire hated hearing. He cleared his throat loudly.

"Er, I stayed with Sel for a while when I was homeless," he said to Victoire, who already knew this, just to coast over the awkwardness. Somehow, he had just made things far more awkward. Perhaps it was the phrasing, or just the tone, but as soon as he had blurted it out, both Victoire and Teddy turned pink.

"You taught him to cook," Victoire managed.

"Yeah, he had to step up. It wasn't like he was living with his Gran anymore," she sunk her teeth into the muffin and closed her eyes for a moment. "This is amazing."

"Thank you," Victoire said, smiling too politely again.

"It's funny," Selima said, turning to Teddy. "Those months you were bumming on my sofa, and now it looks like I'm the one needing a place to live."

"I wasn't trying to get rid of you earlier," Teddy added. "I just knew you wouldn't agree to living with non-werewolves in Grimmauld Place."

"Be honest, Teddy, you were trying to get rid of me," Selima joked, before addressing Victoire in a conspiratory tone. "I think I gave the bloke an aneurism while we were living together. He died when I cooked Hippogriff feet stew."

"I always ate whatever you cooked," he said, swatting her arm.

"Plus, he had a bloody heart attack every time I took a shower."

"You showered with the door open," Teddy complained, rolling his eyes. "It's common courtesy to shut a door when you're using it."

"My flat consists of two rooms, it's not as if I usually have doors to shut."

They both turned back to Victoire, who had become even more tense and cheery then she had been a few minutes ago. Once she had their attention again, she laughed nervously and loudly.

"Anyway," Selima said, assessing Victoire with an odd look. "I think I would have much preferred to room with Victoire…just for the sake of the muffins, of course."

"Don't stroke her ego too much. She already thinks she's a far better chef than I am," Teddy replied.

"I bet she's also a fair bity tidier than you were," Selima said, speaking to Teddy, although her eyes remained on the woman in front of her. "At least, she looks far tidier."

"We get the point. Victoire is superior to me in every way and I'm punching above my weight," Teddy said, taking a little bow.

Selima smiled at them both wanly before checking her watch. She scooped her bag up off the floor and glanced over at Harry. "I'm going to head back to my flat and tell Ralph what's going to happen. I feel like it'll be a long night convincing him to come around to the idea of living in a house of werewolves. He's already so sensitive about transforming."

"You'll convince him," Teddy assured her solemnly, giving her a one armed hug.

Selima smiled at them both warmly, her lips too plump to stretch across such a thin face. She nodded to Victoire, who's face almost trembled with the urge to remain gracious. "Thanks again for the sweets. If you and Teddy split up again, maybe I'll stand a chance."

She winked at the pair and swung her bag over her shoulder, hastening up the steps of the kitchen and down the hallway through which she had arrived. The couple left in her wake both stood there for a moment, adjusting to the mood without having their coating of pretense. Victoire turned to face Teddy, her face now scrunched up in confusion. "What the hell was that?"

"Hm?" he said, snatching up a muffin to distract her.

"That little _if you split up again_? Why would she say that?"

"She was just joking," Teddy said quickly.

Victoire's eyebrows had flattened into two very straight lines of utter seriousness. "Were you two a, you know, _thing_? When you lived together?"

"We were a platonic thing," Teddy said.

"Platonic?"

"Totally platonic. Nothing sexual there whatsoever."

"Like intimately showering with each other but avoiding your genitals from touching platonic?" Victoire replied, her face still scrunched in befuddlement.

"We _never_ showered together."

"That whole inside joke skit you two just performed was very indicative of genital touching," Victoire said, her tone very serious.

"I don't think you understand what platonic means."

"I'm not saying I would have an issue with you having sex with the edgy werewolf tattoo-artist," Victoire said quickly. "We were broken up so you had every right to have sex with her. I condone that, honestly."

"Condone it?" Teddy said, both his eyebrows jumping up.

"Absolutely. That's healthy rebound behaviour. It's just that, she seemed like she was flirting with you just then. And she's a very edgy werewolf tattoo-artist. I feel like she's sort of your type. And I need to know exactly what happened with the two of you that makes her think that _if_ we split up, she stands a chance."

Teddy smiled wanly, peeling the wrapper off his muffin. "Selima's a lesbian, Vic."

"Oh," Victoire said, her eyes suddenly widening.

"And I'm certain she was flirting with you, not me."

" _Oh_ , wow. Well. That's very flattering then."

"In any case, I'm not interested in edgy werewolf tattoo-artists. My type sort of exclusively consists of one person."

"Okay," Victoire said, all her nervous energy unraveling. "Just platonic friends."

Teddy began to smile slowly, lowering the muffin as he sized Victoire up. "You were jealous, weren't you?"

Victoire's voice jumped several octaves. "Er, I hardly see how that's relevant."

"I don't think I've _ever_ seen you jealous before," he teased.

"What's that," she said, motioning to the package under his arm. Teddy handed her his half eaten muffin so he could remove it.

"Not sure. Sel gave it to me."

"She's giving you _packages_ too?"

"Oi, you're the one who had her eating your muffins."

Teddy was peeling back the corners of the package now, peeking in to see what was inside. He was confronted by yellow corduroy fabric, bundled up inside the brown. Stunned, he tugged the fabric out a little to look at it.

"Aren't those your jeans?" Victoire said, surprised.

They were. His old mustard corduroy jeans, the pair Victoire had bought him at a muggle thrift shop. His sunshine legs trousers. They were supposed to be lost to him forever, but here they were.

"I gave them to her," he remembered. "Instead of tossing them."

"You were tossing them?"

He looked up to see the genuine confusion on Victoire's face as she reached out to touch the jeans. "This was your favourite item of clothing. Why were you tossing them?"

"I er…" he trailed off now, a thickness in his voice. He looked around self-consciously, but everyone was still involved in their own little conversations. No one had paid them any mind. "I threw out all the stuff I owned which was associated with you. Which was, like, half my stuff."

"You threw out all your stuff?" she said, her eyes widening.

"I mean, I kept the stuff that I had owned from before we were dating. Like my records and concert tickets. But I chucked everything else out."

"You chucked—is this why you only have four shirts and two pairs of trousers?"

"You had either worn or bought me half my wardrobe."

"Teddy, I don't understand this…You threw it all away? Even the signed Ministry of Maddness poster I got you for your twentieth birthday?"

"I got good money for the poster," Teddy said, wincing. He began to defend himself. "It was healthy rebound behaviour. I needed to cleanse."

"All the evidence of our post-school relationship, gone," Victoire said, deflating slightly. She was devastated.

Teddy stared at her as she stared at the mustard jeans in his hands, a sort of wistfulness in her eyes. They hadn't really talked about how they had dealt with their break or how certain they had been that neither would return. It was their unsaid dread.

"I kept the diaries," Teddy blurted out, the thought coming back to him like a dart hitting its mark. "I couldn't part with them. There's just too much history there and a part of me knew that our last diary wouldn't go unfinished."

"You kept all of our two-way diaries?"

"Yep. I've got them all in a box in the attic right now," he said, as matter of fact as he could. "It's the story of us, written down in split perspective first person dialogue."

Victoire smiled weakly. "I suppose we had a little hiatus and now we're beginning the next chapter."

"I suppose so," he agreed.

She looked over her shoulder at her parents, her blonde hair catching in the light. When she turned back, she was wearing her first genuine smile of the evening. "You can go up to bed if you like. I'm going to spend a little time with mum and dad before they go."

"Of course," Teddy agreed, nodding to her. "I'll catch up with you later."

"And for the record," Victoire said, the plate of muffins teetering in her left hand. "I wasn't jealous."

"I'm not sure what records _you're_ writing, but you definitely were."

* * *

Prefect patrols were quieter than ever, something Albus was relieved about. He had a load of homework that he needed to get done and the idea of writing up somebody's detention slip well after curfew did not appeal to him. Imogen, on the other hand, seemed quite relived to be procrastinating from their twelve inch Alchemy report. She dragged her hair long, ash-blond hair into a ponytail while also dragging her feet, constituting the slowest progress through the second floor rounds they had ever made.

"Would you like to pick up the pace a little?" Albus said over his shoulder as he turned the next corner.

"This pace is fine," she shrugged, her disembodied voice floating after him. A moment later, she had turned the corner.

"It wasn't really a suggestion."

"Then why did you phrase it like it was?"

Even though she was brusque (nothing knew with Imogen Abercrombie) she was being completely serious as well. Albus wasn't sure how to respond, so he dug his hands into the pockets of his robes and kept walking. They only had ten minutes to go, and once they had circulated the whole floor, they could return to the prefect's office and sign off. Just as Albus was thinking this, Imogen took several steps backwards. Literally.

"Where are you going? We already checked that corridor!"

She was walking more quickly now, to where a large tapestry hung over an alcove. Albus started after her.

"I thought I heard someone," she replied, grabbing hold of the tapestry. She whipped it aside to uncover Peeves the poltergeist, which upon being revealed like a prize on a muggle quiz show, turned upside-down and blew a loud raspberry. Imogen huffed, throwing the tapestry over his face, much to the spirit's indignation. "Never mind."

"What did you expect?" Albus said, finally coming to rest beside her just as she turned on her heel and continued back down the hallway.

"I dunno. I once found Lucy Bird snogging David Dolt Wolten there behind that tapestry. Mind you, it was the end of fourth year and I wasn't a prefect back then so all I could do was take the mickey." Albus glanced back at the tapestry, where Peeves was wrestling to untangle himself. His faced flushed and Imogen noticed. "Er, I forgot that you went out with Bird," she said, blundering a bit on the periphery of an apology.

But Albus only glanced back sharply at her and rolled his green eyes.

"Don't remind me," he said. Then, he asked what had really been on his mind. "Do people actually snog behind tapestries? Out in public hallways?"

He knew even as he said it that this question was glazed in a wholesomeness that Imogen would mock immediately. He was right.

"Well, if you're dating someone who's not in your house, where do you expect to snog?"

"I dunno," he said defensively. He had only dated Lucy, and much of their snogging had either taken place on Hogsmeade dates or in the common room. "It just seems sort of risky to snog in a hallway."

Imogen rolled her tawny eyes, looking like an insolent cat. They had reached the end of their round and doubled back, heading towards the stairs. "You're really very naïve, Albus."

"I'm not," he said shortly.

"Er, if you think snogging behind a tapestry's bad, then you're lucky I don't go to pains to check every broom closet we pass."

Albus grabbed her arm to tug her over the trip step, almost reflexively now.

"People snog in the closets?"

"People _shag_ in the closets," Imogen corrected.

Albus' face went bright red, but they had arrived at the prefect's office now, where Imogen held the door open for him expectantly. He stared, slightly agape, before shuffling inside. He picked up the quill to sign their names off the roster.

"What, there's honestly no one you fancy shagging in a closet?" she goaded.

"Er, not at all," Albus replied, scribbling away. "Not just because it's positively demeaning, but also because I haven't the least bit of interest in dating anyone at the moment."

"I said shag, not date."

"I don't think I would be one to split hairs. I was never the sort of person who could deal with casual affairs with anything. I commit to everything, and everyone," Albus added rolling his eyes again as he added the date and time to the table. "And anyway, after the whole Lucy Bird fiasco of fifth year, I don't think I'll be dating anyone for the rest of my time at Hogwarts."

"No?" Imogen prompted, surprised.

"Definitely not. I think I be striving for a drama-free, single school career."

Imogen shrugged, taking the quill to also sign her name. She returned it to its drawer and followed Albus back out into the hall.

"That seems very sensible," Imogen admitted.

"Why," Albus grinned as they started towards Gryffindor Tower. "Were you keen on me?"

Now, it was Imogen who rolled her tawny eyes. "Well, I'm all for casual affairs and broom closet shags so I'm not sure we'd be much use to each other."

They both laughed at this, perhaps because they really were as starkly opposite as two people could come. It wasn't until the prefects reached the portrait of the Fat Lady that Albus turned to look at her, slightly horrified. "Wait. Have _you_ shagged someone in a closet before?"

"You really are innocent, Albus," she said, smiling a little wanly. She gave the password and put one leg through the portrait hole before looking over her shoulder. "And it was the second floor girl's lavatory."

"Merlin," Albus muttered, shaking his head like a scandalised parent. Still, he followed her inside with as little self-righteous postulating he could manage.

* * *

"Can you believe people _snog_ in the hallways?" Albus asked Rose and Scorpius midway through their prefect's meeting the following Friday afternoon.

"Yes," Rose said, almost without looking up from the parchment she was doodling on. She and Scorpius were playing hangman, something that Roxanne had yet to notice.

However, Scorpius glanced sharply up at Rose at her response. "Have _you_ snogged someone in a hallway?"

"I snogged Zabini in a hallway once."

"For Merlin's sake," Scorpius muttered. Rose guessed another letter wrong and he drew another arm on his hangman.

"And people _shag_ in broom closest too. That's feral."

"Lighten up, Al. There are worst placed to shag," his cousin shrugged, guessing another letter. Scorpius filled it out. "Please don't tell me it's the name of some stupidly long herb," Rose said, squinting suspiciously at the empty, dashed lines. Albus squinted over her shoulder, too.

"It's monkshood."

"Are you three paying attention?" Roxanne called from the front of the room.

"They're discussing what to do if they catch someone snogging in the hallway," Lysander said airily, leaning against the blackboard.

"Oh," Roxanne glanced at her notes. "Well, I suppose we should go over the procedure for that. I mean, is that a detention worthy offence?"

"I suppose," Lysander said, nodding absently. "It's not as bad as shagging someone in a broom closet, though. That's probably worth taking up with the Headmaster."

"Agreed," Roxanne said, jotting it into the minutes. "Everyone got that?"

The prefects nodded warily. Albus noticed Imogen sink down a few inches in her chair.

* * *

There was something glorious about the first Quidditch practice of the year. This rustiness that needed to be shaken off, the awakening of old muscle memory and adrenalin. This year, there were two new team members to train. Which, Scorpius believed, meant retraining the whole team. They all needed to work like a well-oiled machine.

"We won by dumb Gryffindor luck last year," he said, pacing before the new mob of players. "Ravenclaw is still the strongest competitor, but Lorcan Scamander had his team playing like madmen in that final match so we need to be worried. There are no prospects for complacency."

"Scare tactics," Buckingham scoffed.

"We need to approach each game like war. Figure out our opponent's weaknesses," Scorpius said. "So, what's the assessment?"

"Gryffindor are good at pulling off tricky plays. The whole team gel so well they can improvise without communicating," Toby Fleischer said, tapping his bat against his open palm.

"But, they're right awful at strategy and are sloppy defenders," Sterling jumped in.

"So we tighten defense and make sure we keep possession," Scorpius said.

He looked at the two new girls. Meredith was all keyed up, looking (as Rose often put it) like a yappy little terrier dog. She was holding one of the school's brooms, a horrible old Cleansweep. Just the look of it what enough to make Scorpius shudder. He would have to do something about that. Beside her, only a bit taller, stood Alice Lim. She was gripping her broom tightly, her face set like stone. Her sharp angled eyes had not left Scorpius once. Both of them looked ready to get on their brooms.

"Let's start with some warm up drills. I want seven laps, followed by five suicide passes, then repeat."

"Oh, c'mon," Rose huffed, yanking her broom off the wet grass and throwing her bat away. She hooked a leg over the stick. "Suicide passes?"

Scorpius had invented suicide passes. It was a drill where every player (whether they were a Chaser or a Keeper or a Beater) had to fly half way up the field, pass to the next player, who would fly to the other end and pass to another. This pattern would repeat until each player had passed the Quaffle five times. To make things trickier, you couldn't pass the ball in the same way that the previous player had passed it along, so that the passes got increasingly complicated.

And if anyone dropped the ball, they all had to start over.

He explained the rules to his new Chasers as he got the Quaffle out of the trunk.

"Go on, seven laps. Be grateful you're flying them and not walking them."

Everyone flew fine to begin with, taking the corners easily and keeping pace. Only Meredith lagged, and it was no fault of her own. Scorpius found himself glaring at her broomstick as he completed the final lap ahead of the others.

Trouble started with the suicide passes. Toby was first, and he did a chest pass to Sterling (the first always started with the chest pass because it was easiest.) Sterling then did a backwards pass to Buckingham, who had to pass next to Alice. Buckingham did an overarm pass that flew with such force it nearly broke her nose. Scorpius found himself blowing the whistle and they were only ten minutes into practice.

"Are you alright?" he asked Alice as he leveled himself beside her.

She used her wrist to wipe at her bloody nose. "I'm fine," she said heatedly. "Let's keep it going."

Unfortunately, Alice had to pass to Rose. As she sped towards her, Alice prepared for a diagonal pass that Rose had to lunge for. She lunged so far she almost fell off her broom. Fleischer sped towards her, grabbing her robes at the last minute to settle her.

"Why don't you try and _aim,_ Lim?" Rose spat, tucking the Quaffle under her arm.

Alice's nose was still bleeding and she didn't seem the least bit concerned that Rose had almost toppled off her broom. She dabbed at her nose again while Rose passed to Fleischer, who then passed to Meredith.

She dropped the Quaffle.

"For Merlin's sake," Sterling muttered.

"I'm sorry, I'm _so_ sorry," Meredith jabbered diving to retrieve the Quaffle.

"It's fine. We'd only made it through one round. Let's start over. Try make it to five passes each."

They started the drill over another four times, either because someone dropped the Quaffle (Meredith, twice) or someone got injured (Buckingham received a ball to the head on Alice's return, and Sterling accidentally collided with one of the hoops as he attempted to catch the ball on a long pass).

"Alright," Scorpius said, when they finally completed the drill. Everyone looked exhausted. "Let's start on the hourglass drill. Beaters, let out those Bludgers. Let's see how well our Chasers can doge will passing."

With the Bludgers out, Meredith began to focus. She was good at weaving around the iron missiles, collecting the Quaffle with ease now that she wasn't overthinking. Scorpius felt a knot unravel in his chest, a feeling he hadn't realised he had been carrying until it was gone. For a moment, he was afraid he had made the wrong decisions, but he knew his judgments were rarely wrong.

Still, things soured when he had the Chasers try to score past Buckingham, one of the best Keepers in the competition. Sterling, who knew Tim's weaknesses better than most, managed to get two out of two attempts. Both the girls failed to get anything through. Meredith was almost passing the Quaffle right to him. Alice seemed to hesitate every time she approached the hoops, coming to an abrupt stop with nothing to show for it.

"Try to feint left," Scorpius suggested, flying alongside her.

Alice nodded firmly, wheeling around to fly back towards the hoops. Her straight black hair whipped the nape of her neck. She feinted left, but directed the Quaffle at the centre hoop at the final moment. Buckingham easily intercepted it.

"Try it again," Scorpius called, ducking as a Bludger went by his head. Alice was clearly getting worked up now. The Chasers took up their positions and Sterling tossed Alice the Quaffle. As she was about to score, a Bludger hit the bristles of her broomstick, unbalancing her.

"What the hell was that?" Alice exploded as Meredith dived to catch the Quaffle.

"I'm keeping it realistic, Alice," Rose said, gripping her Beater's Bat with both hands.

"I was about to shoot!"

Alice was now whipping her broom around to face Rose, her tiny shoulders bunched under her ears. There was so much fury in her, it looked as if she would rocket right off her broomstick.

"Do you think the Gryffindor Beaters will ease off every time you line yourself up to shoot?" Rose replied bluntly.

"She's right, Alice. You need to practice under game conditions," Tim Buckingham called.

" _You_ don't get an opinion," she called back.

"That's _enough_ ," Scorpius yelled, his temple pounding. Sterling shook his head, utterly dejected. He nosed his broom at the ground and jumped off, heading for the changing rooms. Scorpius glared at the remaining Chasers, his blood pumping. "On Saturday, you two will need to show up half an hour earlier to practice your shooting. And I feel the need to remind the rest of you that we are a _team._ It is not your job to compete with one another _._ "

"Hear hear," Fleischer muttered, also returning to the ground. He opened the ball trunk, facing it towards the sky. Both Bludgers changed course to fly like projectiles towards the empty sockets. He wrestled them back into their chains as Scorpius motioned for the others to pack up and go.

He landed on the ground heavily, his head splitting. He ran his hand over his face and left it to conceal his eyes, blotting out the grey afternoon light. When Rose landed on the ground beside him, her feet heavy and her bat still in her fist, Scorpius dropped his hand to look at her.

"I didn't do anything inflammatory," she said immediately.

"I never said you did," he replied tiredly. "Go help Fleischer take the trunk back. I need a word with Alice and Meredith."

"Fine," Rose shrugged, walking over to her fellow Beater. Still, she said the words that Scorpius had been praying she would keep to herself. "But I told you so."

* * *

Molly had told Rowan that the ex-Auror Ellie Cattermole, although appearing to be a tiny sweet vessel of goodness, was actually a piece of work. Rowan hadn't heeded the warning until Cattermole was having him throw knife after knife at the wall, refusing to stop until he hit the target that was Lucius Malfoy's face. The Weasleys sat around and watched him until Teddy came in with snacks.

"Chocolate frogs, courtesy of Diagon Alley," he said, tossing the packet to Victoire, who immediately tore it open. She sat up eagerly like a child, tipping the whole packet into her lap.

"Share is caring," Fred said, holding out a hand. She tossed her one, before handing out a few more to Dominique and Molly.

"I'm honestly addicted to these," she said, pulling a wrapper open and taking out the card. She briefly read the bio before cracking the head of her frog off.

"I haven't had these since I was at Hogwarts," Molly mused.

"Oi," said, looking over his shoulder. "Stop distracting me."

"Don't blame them for your pathetic knife throwing," Cattermole snapped. "You were throwing just as badly when we were sitting in utter silence."

Rowan grunted, tugging several of his knives out of the wall. In the meanwhile, Teddy splayed across the carpet, his head resting on Victoire's thigh as he tore open his own chocolate frog. He snorted as he read the card. "Huh, I finally got Agrippa. I guess this means I can trade you for Ptolemy?"

"You'd be so lucky. I'm never parting with Ptolemy," Victoire said carelessly.

The rest of the wizards and witches in the drawing room shared shifty looks. They had been speculating all week about whether Victoire and Teddy were finally back together, something that had become a particularly hot topic because it would decide the bet they had all made at Victoire's welcome home party.

"Merlin, why is knife throwing a compulsory part of training?" Rowan snapped as another knife clattered to the floor. "Do we live in an age of witchcraft and wizardry?"

"Lovely, I need you to spend less time whining and more time _hitting the target_ ," Cattermole replied.

Dominique nudged Fred's foot and motioned towards the pair on the floor. Victoire was now sucking on a chocolate frog, absently tapping her card against the top of Teddy's head, while he had crossed one of his legs over the other. Fred narrowed his eyes slightly, sent a final hesitant look at Molly and Dominique, before asking, "Are you two back together?"

There was an awkward beat. Teddy and Victoire stared at one another; Victoire craned her neck down at Teddy who looked up at her from where his head rested on her knee.

"Yeah," Victoire said.

" _What_?" Dominique sputtered, half rising off the sofa. "You're back together now?"

"Did we ever really break up?" Teddy said with a coy smile.

"You _definitely_ broke up."

Teddy rolled over, splaying himself like a starfish over the carpet. Victoire rolled her eyes at him. They were both behaving so casually that it was easy to mistake this as a prank. "I think," Teddy said slowly, positing himself to look at Dominique, "that you're imagining things."

"When did you two get back together?" Fred asked.

"Is it really important _when_ ," Victoire replied vaguely, fluttering a wrist. "Isn't it just important that we're happy?"

"No, we need an exact date," Molly replied.

Teddy rolled into a sitting position, staring in mock outrage at his younger cohorts. "Were you lot _betting_ on when we'd get back together?"

"Just give us a date!" Fred cried.

"See Victoire," Teddy said, patting her knee. "Even _they_ knew it was a matter of time before we got back together. It was inevitable."

"Oh, for Godric's sake," she scoffed.

"We officially got back together early this month," Teddy said, smiling.

They all froze as the cogs turned over in an attempt to work out who had bet the date that was the closest. Molly's eyebrows creased as she toyed with her glassed. "I bet after Halloween, which is the closest to October."

"No," Dominique said slowly. "James bet the second week of October."

"You mean _James_ won?" Fred huffed, thumping a fist against his knee. "Bugger. I have to owl him money."

"He's going to be so insufferable," Molly agreed. "He hasn't won a bet in ages."

"I missing making bets," Victoire sighed, ripping open another chocolate packet. "I'm so old people leave me out of these things now. Let's all make a bet."

"Let's make a bet on how many hours it takes Finnigan to hit Malfoy's face with a knife," Molly said dryly.

Everyone laughed and Rowan twitched towards them in annoyance, but maintaining his focus, he tossed his knife at the Black tapestry. It spun hilt over blade once before lodging itself in between Lucius Malfoy's eyes.

"Ha!" he roared, spinning around to face them all. "You can all bite your tongues! All of you would've lost money."

"That's enough of that," Cattermole said, vanishing the knives with her wand before facing the others. "All of you up with wands out. We're going to start practicing non-contact force dueling."

Everyone grumbled, getting to their feet. Under his breath, Fred muttered, "let's bet on how long it takes before one of us snaps and throws a knife at Cattermole."

Dominique giggled.

* * *

Events were far tenser down in the kitchen, where Percy was overwrought with worries. He removed his horn-rimmed glasses and sighed heavily.

"I'm sorry, Harry. Audrey and I have made up our minds."

"You haven't even discussed this with us," Harry said, trying to keep his voice level. "Have you told your parents?"

"We're going round to tell them tonight. We're leaving tomorrow."

Percy pursed his lips and gripped the back of the kitchen chair. He looked set, unlikely to change his mind. "I've put my career before my family too many times, Harry. I need to do what's best for them now."

"What about Molly?" he prompted. "Surely she won't come with you."

"Molly has made it clear she wants to stay. She's an adult," Percy added, somewhat stiffly. "I can't stop her."

They both stood there for a moment. Percy felt selfish for leaving. Harry felt selfish for asking him to say.

Harry tried one final line of thought. "You know, Lucy hasn't turned eleven yet. Sometimes it's too early to tell at this age. She might be a late bloomer."

"No signs of accidental magic," Percy repeated sombrely. "And in any case, late bloomer or not, do you really think we'll risk sticking around to find out? We need to take her into hiding before she gets noticed."

A sick feeling turned over in his stomach. Percy was one of four Order members still working at the Ministry. If he left the Order, they would be down an excellent soldier and a spy.

But Harry couldn't bring himself to beg Percy to stay. It was not his place to ask that of him.

"Where are you going?"

"To Wales. We're going to live with Audrey's parents for a while. If the situation worsens we'll go to Australia. Somewhere far."

"Alright," Harry said, nodding solemnly. "You need to do what's best for Lucy. How had Molly taken it?" he added.

"She isn't speaking to us," Percy replied warily. "She thinks we're being cowards."

"She'll realise you're just being parents," Harry replied gently.

Percy nodded, his freckled face pale. He held out a hand for Harry to shake. His brother-in-law grasped it tightly.

"Do me a favour and look after Molly, even if she doesn't want to be looked after," Percy added.

"I'll do my best," Harry agreed.

* * *

As October progressed, the Whomping Willow began to shed it leaves, leaving nothing but a twisting, violent skeleton dotting the ground's landscape. It was a desolate part of Hogwarts, where few students came, so James was surprised to find Angus Finnigan sitting a little way off, staring at the willow.

"Alright, Angus?" he said, dropping down beside him. The air was brisk, biting at their faces. Angus had tucked his scarf around his chin, and his eyes were wet from the wind whipping his face.

"Yeah, I'm fine. What're you doing here, James?"

"I was going for a walk," James said. He knew this would sound like a stupid excuse but he didn't owe Angus Finnigan the truth.

Still, Angus gave him a queer look. "Er, not many people walk by the Whomping Willow. Wouldn't you be better off down by the lake?"

"I avoid the lake if possible," James said shortly, his face set. "In fact, I prefer to steer clear of it wherever I can."

"Oh," Angus replied, turning back to the Willow. James drummed his fingers on his knees, his eyes darting over the grounds quickly. His heart rate had picked up now that he had stopped moving, and mentioning the lake had made his tongue feel dry. But he couldn't move towards the Willow with Angus sitting so nearby, watching.

"Why'd you think they planted the Willow?" Angus asked.

"Dunno," James lied. "But it's a mental tree. Look at it thrashing about."

"Sort of you like," Angus said. Jams gave him a sidelong glance and laughed a bit. His heart rate was coming down so the laughter wasn't as nervous as he expected. Angus still seemed embarrassed. "I didn't mean that in a bad way. I just meant you never keep still."

"Yeah," James agreed, looking back at the Willow. "Now more than ever."

He glanced back at the younger boy who still stared miserably at the skeletal branches, twisting and turning in response to the wind. James sighed. "I reckon you have a lot of pent up rage inside you, Finnigan. Like that tree. One little breeze and it'll set you off. You'll just go mental."

Angus shook his head, still staring at the tree. "Nah. I'm just quiet. And sad."

James got to his feet, the wind now tugging at his scarf. He wound it more tightly around his neck. He gave Angus a pat on his shoulder. "Promised I'd make you laugh, Finnigan. I keep my promises, you know."

"Yeah?" The younger boy asked.

"Yeah. I'll make it my life's mission. Get you to laugh. Then I'll have done everything on my bucket list. I'll have no reasons left to live. I'll have to come down here and let this tree bash the shit out of me and put me out of my purposeless misery."

"Sounds like you'll be sticking around for a while though," Angus said drily. "I'm not going to be laughing any time soon."

"We'll see."

* * *

Scorpius seemed to be humming through October like a hummingbird, nimble and light and full of feathery effervesce. Sixth year suited him just fine. Sure, there had been ups and downs (Quidditch practices and friendship dramas mainly constituting the downs) but those factors seemed external to him.

For the first time in his life, he felt completely comfortable not just within himself but outside of himself. He was comfortable with the way he moved, the dexterity necessary in Potions and Quidditch, the sharpness of his limbs and gait. He was comfortable in letting his hair grow wavy and natural, with the range of men's knitwear he donned on the weekends. There was no longer something craven and awkward about any of this; he no longer felt like someone would pick on him for ready a Herbology book for leisure in the common room or wearing slippers in the dormitory.

Partly, this was because Scorpius was almost at the top of the food chain. There were no longer seniors to pick on him or poke at insecurities, and so, his insecurities had become character traits. Partly, it was also Rose, who made him feel that every bit of himself—awkward or not—was worth loving.

Not that either of them had used those words precisely yet—they felt big and dense and heavy—but he sentiment was there in the way she brushed her fingers through her hair or toyed with his wool jumpers. She would bury her face into his neck when they were alone so she could breathe in what she called his 'dirt and plants' smell, and somehow, this expressed something that had yet to find words.

Of course, his effervescence could also be put down to Professor Bellucci. This was a point where he and Rose differed, but he could not contain his admiration for his new Potions' teacher. It was like an unvoiced prayer had been answered, that the universe had delivered him something he hadn't even realised he needed. Scorpius was not really a fatalist, but meeting Stella Bellucci was as close as he would get to acknowledging providence.

It was under Bellucci that Scorpius was being challenged like he had never been challenged. He was pursuing potions that he would never have thought he could produce. She dazzled him with her craftiness and moments of inspiration. Again, this always managed to prompt Rose to roll her eyes so frequently it looked as if they'd fall out of her skull.

If Scorpius could step outside of himself, he too would be embarrassed by how infatuated he was with Bellucci. Unlike his peers, who were mostly mesmerized by her unparalleled physical appeal, Scorpius was spellbound by her brains. He had never met someone as intellectually in sync with him. He insisted on attending her little Stellar Society dinner parties, which were quickly becoming covetous gatherings gossiped about by the student body. Rose was always invited, but managed to come up with a range of excuses not to come. And although the number of students invited were slowly growing, Bellucci always seemed to save a place for Scorpius in the seat beside her.

"I was thinking of throwing a little party come Christmas," she had said, one Friday night in October as she dissected a quail. "Invite a few old friends of mine to give a talk or two. Give you all a chance to mingle with those in the professions you wish to go into. It know _quite_ a few advanced brewers specialising in herbalism that you would be interested in meeting, Scorpius," she added in a quieter hush, placing her hand over his with a wink and a squeeze.

While talking about Bellucci with Rose garnered a typical reaction— _you're basically in love with her because she knows how to stoke a cauldron—_ talking to Isabella about it was not much better.

"I _know_ I haven't taken Potions but it really seems unfair that I haven't been invited to one of your stupid dinners," she huffed, when Scorpius brought the subject up to her. "I mean, I am a person worth knowing."

"Well, _I_ think so," Scorpius said noncommittally.

"But Bellucci doesn't. Honestly, I've never _not_ been noticed before. It's insulting. Is this was average people feel like all the time?"

"I'd assume so," Scorpius shrugged.

"It's awful. I really feel sorry for the Stewart Mumps of this world."

Scorpius clenched his teeth and hastily moved onto the next topic of conversation. They were making their way from dinner down to the common room, and Scorpius was attempting to avoid talking about, looking at or speaking to Stewart Mumps, who had kept up a delicately injured countenance since being dropped from the Quidditch team. At least Norton had gotten angry with Scorpius after he had made Rose Beater last year. This sullen passive aggression was much worse. Quidditch was meant to be the one, big unifier in his life.

"Made up with Rose yet?" he said, as way of changing the topic.

"That's unlikely," Isabella snapped. "Almost as unlikely as making up with Zabini."

"Holding a grudge isn't good for you. I'm sure it's bound to give you pimples or something."

"I have perfect skin," Isabella pouted, patting her cheeks. "And honestly, you're not one to talk about holding grudges. You loathed Rose from second to fifth year. I hardly call that a forgiving record."

Scorpius flushed, shaking his head in protest. He was about to come up with a witty retort when they were both intercepted with a dungeon door opening.

"I thought I heard a familiar voice," Bellucci said, poking her head around her office door. Her hair fell in dark, slick waves. She had appeared like an apparition.

"Er, we were just heading back to the common room," Scorpius said, inexplicably feeling the heat rush to his already warm face.

"You know, you were just the person I needed to see, Scorpius. I was wondering whether you've read Phyllida Spore's treatise on the uses of Aconite."

"Actually," Scorpius said, brightening instantly as he usually did around Bellucci. She had a knack for bringing up a subject Scorpius was well versed in, putting him at ease. "Professor Longbottom gave me her published works last year for light reading over the Easter break."

"Oh, _did_ he? Drats. I suppose, great minds think alike! It would still be worth revisiting though," Bellucci blanched, her eyes gliding over Isabella for the first time. She smiled politely, but almost coldly. "I'm sorry, I don't believe I remember your name?"

"Isabella," Isabella supplied, torn between offended and mortified. "We, erm, met when you worked out my timetable."

"Yes, of course. Your face is familiar but I'm so new here, and there are just _so_ many Slytherins I've yet to acquaint myself with! You have to excuse my carelessness."

There was a slight awkward pause, where Isabella subtly nudged Scorpius with her elbow. This was his cue, he knew. "Er, Isabella is my oldest friend," he blurted out, feeling ridiculous for advertising this fact. But, as always, Bellucci seemed completely interested in what he had to say. "We were basically raised together. My father was good friends with the Parkinsons and my mother knew the Notts, so it was almost inevitable that we'd end up together in Slytherin."

"The Notts," Bellucci said, her brown eyes widening. "That's right—I think you mentioned—so you're Edgar Nott's daughter."

"Yes, that's right," Isabella said, beaming. Scorpius gave her arm a little pinch.

"And are you in touch with your uncle Elliot? We were old friends from school days. He was a few years ahead of me, I think."

"Yes, Uncle Elliot is doing quite well. I'll have to mention you're teaching here when I see him over Christmas break."

"Marvelous! Well, glad to have properly met you, Isabella. Really, you _should_ come along to one of our dinner parties and have a proper chat. I'll send an invitation around with one of the house-elves when I next have a chance." She had said the magic words, whether conscious of it or not, and Isabella was now beaming from ear to ear. Bellucci took several steps back towards her office door. "Well, I'll let you two run off now. I'm sure you have plenty of work to do. Remember Spore's essay, Scorpius, I'm sure it'll be very valuable."

"Of course, Professor. Have a goodnight."

They had made it to the common room entrance before Isabella broke down into a high pitch squeal. She danced around Scorpius before embracing him in a tight hug. " _Thank_ you, a dinner party is just what I need right now!"

"You always need a dinner party, Belle."

"Especially because the food has been so bland of late."

"Mhm. I'm sure you'll enjoy the imported quail."

"Imported _quail_?"

They had moseyed their way into the common room, and Scorpius' eyes immediately darted to the back corner of the room where Rose was crouched over several textbooks, quill in hand and faced scrunched in concentration. Beside her, Zabini was chattering amicably while being utterly ignored. A pang went through Scorpius' chest. There was nothing he wanted more than to cross the room and put his arms around her waist, distracting her from whatever homework she was trying to get finished. In fact, he would have settled for just taking the chair opposite and finishing his homework alongside her. Even this seemed impossible with Isabella hanging off his arm, determined to hang onto her grudge.

This was perhaps the only thing to damper Scorpius' spirits all term. While Mumps may be moping, the drama in the girl's dorm was simmering to a low boil. Rose had insisted Scorpius not get involved and he was happy not to, but a part of him wished that this could have been a scenario fixed by Rose punching or hexing someone. He was tired of avoiding her; she was the only person he really wanted to share his day with and hear, in turn, how her day was. Instead, he went to bed with nothing but a quick backward glance.

Somehow, Rose had managed to sync herself with his moods. This must not have been something she was doing consciously—for she was the least perceptive person he knew aside from Albus—but she always managed to counteract his silent pinning with a bit of action.

For instance, the following day between classes as the Slytherins moved from Charms to Transfiguration, Rose smoothly brushed past him in the throng of moving bodies, but not before sneakily slipping something into his hand. The entire exchange took place in less than five seconds of almost imperceptible interaction. Rose didn't even turn to look towards him. Once she was several heads in front of him, her mop of auburn curls bouncing behind her, he ducked into the lavatory to read the slip of parchment.

 _Meet me in Greenhouse Three during dinner. I will bring food._

 _Burn this or eat it, make sure it's thoroughly disposed._

 _It could incriminate us._

He dramatics never failed to amuse him.

When everyone was moving to the Great Hall around seven o'clock, Scorpius was ducking out of the school and flying down the slopes that lead to the greenhouses. At this time of night, with the sky is soft purple tinge, the glass greenhouses looked dark and lonely. He slipped into the third building, closing the door securely behind him. At the back of the room, at the final wooden workbench, Rose sat with a small mason jar full of blue fire and a bundled up tablecloth.

"Well, fancy seeing you here," she said, as if surprised, as Scorpius weaved between the vines and pot plants that hung off the walls.

Her blue eyes sparkled in the light of the blue fire. Scorpius took the seat opposite her and placed her note between them on the bench.

"I'm surprised you didn't use code, to be frank."

"I told you to dispose of this!" Falsely outraged, she took the note and dropped it into the mason jar, where it soon became a pile of ash. "You would be a terrible spy."

"Wouldn't I just," he agreed. He motioned at the bundle on the table and raised his eyebrows.

Rose began to unwrap the corners of the tablecloth as she explained. "I went down to the kitchens during my free period and nabbed a few things. Here's a pumpkin pie to share and a little Lancashire Hotpot. Oh, and a bottle of pumpkin juice."

She passed him his cutlery before settling their dinner on the table. They ate straight from the pots, as Rose hadn't thought to bring plates. Scorpius was chewing his potatoes when the thought occurred to him.

"How'd you get access to the kitchens?"

"Charm, wit. Tickling a pear in a painting. I know all the tricks," she winked, spearing a potato herself.

It was a relief to be with her, to listen to her babble about Defense Against The Dark Arts and Professor Sharma's practical skills quiz. She talked about Defense in the same way he talked about Potions, with this brimming energy and delight. Although they didn't share one another's passions, there was something comforting in listening to the fullness of her voice as she explained protective charms and anti-jinxes.

"Angus, Albus and I partnered up for the second part and poor Angus wasn't even trying to—do you mind that I only brought one bottle?"

"Pardon?" Scorpius said, brought out of his reverie.

Rose gestured at the bottle of pumpkin juice she was about to uncap. When Scorpius still seemed confused, she went on to clarify. "I know you don't share drinks. Do you want me to conjure up a goblet?"

He chuckled. "It's fine, Rose. We swap saliva on a regular basis, I don't think sharing a drink it beyond us now."

"You're right, we _do_ swap saliva on a regular basis," Rose said, popping the cap. She cringed in disgust. "Think of all those _germs_ Scorpius."

"Don't. Mock me," he said slowly. Rose smiled as she pressed the bottle to her mouth, taking a gulp. She slid it across to him.

"You know," she said as she collected the empty pots. "This was almost like a candle-lit dinner date."

"Almost. Except dates tend to be a fair bit more romantic than this," he said. "This was more like two middle-aged people eating dinner."

Rose wrapped their dirty dishes in the tablecloth again and placed it on the floor. She folded her arms across the table and leaned in. "So, honey, how was your day at work?" she said in her best imitation of a middle-aged person.

"Actually, I do have some news. Bellucci wants to throw a Christmas party." Rose rolled her eyes as he had come to predict. Scorpius plunged ahead. "You should probably come. It will be a great opportunity to meet people and mingle with future employers…"

He trailed off as Rose mimed drinking a potion and then faked a very violent death, where she came to rest in a false fit against the table top.

"Alright, I get it. You hate Bellucci's parties."

"Loathe them, actually," Rose shrugged, sitting up again. "What are your plans for Christmas?"

Scorpius shrugged, taking the pumpkin juice but refraining from drinking it. "I was going to stay at the Castle, I think. I don't fancy going home this Christmas."

"What?" Rose gasped, sitting up right. "You're going to stay _here_?"

"Well, last Christmas was such a drag. At least at Hogwarts I'll be able to work on my Wolfsbane Potion."

Although Rose seemed mortified by this suggestion, Scorpius was hardly bothered by it at all. He liked Hogwarts, especially around Christmas time, and wasn't in any rush to leave.

"You should come to my place for Christmas," Rose said gently, leaning forward to grip his hand as if he were dying. "I'll talk my parents into it."

"Er, that's absolutely _mental,_ Rose."

"You can come over for Christmas Day."

"That'll raise all sorts of questions. My parents will need to sign a permission slip so I can leave the Castle over the holidays, and they will want to know _why_ I'm leaving the Castle if it's not to stay with them. Not to mention that _your_ parents will ask questions, too."

"You won't need a permission slip. You turn seventeen in November," Rose replied, so reasonably that it took him aback. "And as for my parents, you're Albus' friend too. They'll cope with having you there for a day."

Scorpius squirmed. It wasn't the permission slip that bothered him. It was how easy Rose extended the invitation, welcoming him into a family where he knew he could not belong. He wondered if this was why she had been so hesitant when he asked her to come to his place for New Year's Eve.

Rose sensed his reservations and compensated by being overly blasé. "Lorcan Scamander basically lives with the Potters over Christmas break and no one bats an eye."

Scorpius was about to say that he was not Lorcan Scamander and would certainly be far less welcomed at a Weasley-Potter Family Event, when the thought was interrupted by the front door of the greenhouse slidding open. Rose retracted her hand quickly, but neither had a chance to hide before Professor Longbottom had entered the room, lit wand aloft.

The three of them froze for a moment. Neville's brown eyes darted between the two Slytherin prefects before he sighed heavily. "Why in Merlin's name are you two in my greenhouse?"

"Er," Rose said, kicking the plates closer to her bag. "We were looking for _you_ actually."

"Well, you should have looked in the Great Hall, _where everyone else was_."

Professor Longbottom started down the aisle, his face slowly being throw into relief by the blue fire burning between them. He looked tired, far too tired to discipline them again.

"We were waiting for you," Rose corrected, lying with surprising finesse. "We needed to have a word about Herbology."

"In the middle of the night?" their Professor replied.

"I was wondering if I could get my hands on some monkshood," Scorpius added.

Their Professor came to a rest against the table, scrutinising them both carefully. He gestured at the flames in the mason jar. "Are you having an occult meeting?"

"Yes. That's why we need the monkshood," Rose deadpanned.

"I need it for Alchemy," Scorpius amended, giving Rose a little kick under the table. "I'm experimenting with the Wolfsbane Potion."

"Scorpius, do you have any idea how dangerous that is to brew? Has Bellucci allowed this?"

"She thinks it's worthwhile if I start experimenting with my brewing."

Professor Longbottom's eyes narrowed sceptically. He placed his hands on his hips. "Does she, now."

In the tense silence that pursued this, Scorpius got awkwardly to his feet.

"Just because you're my prized pupil, you can't go _asking_ for poisonous plants. You realise they could get me into all sorts of trouble hanging it over to you? You need a brewer's licence to purchase Aconite."

"You have to forgive him for it," Rose said quickly. "He's basically obsessed with Bellucci and will do anything to win her favour. You know how Slytherins can be with their favourite teachers."

"Favourite teacher?" Professor Longbottom said quickly, his brow furrowing. "I'm Scorpius' favourite teacher. I mean to say, his favourite subject is Herbology. It's always been Herbology. Isn't that right, Scorpius?"

"Errr…Right. Absolutely, sir," Scorpius said, so unconvincingly that Neville winced.

"In any case," Rose said, holding up a hand to spare Scorpius further. "I do actually need a word with you."

Professor Longbottom now crossed his arms, raising his eyebrows. His mouth tugged up into the corner. "This isn't about distracting me from noticing you were both having dinner in my greenhouse?"

Rose's face turned beetroot read as she opened her mouth to protest, but their Professor held up a hand. He smiled again, quite charmingly, and shook his head. "On the way down here, I saw James nicking pumpkins from Hagrid's garden patch. I don't know what it _is_ with you kids, but you're all so hell-bent on doing stupid things after hours."

"Right," Rose said, standing now and picking up her bag and the cloth bundle of dishes. "Well, if it's any consolation, I really _do_ need a word with you, Professor."

Professor Longbottom sighed, unwinding his arms and returning to his usual amicable self—the Professor that everyone called 'cool' for his understanding and moderation. "Go on, Rose."

Rose hesitated. She glanced at Scorpius, who was watching her. "I actually need to speak to you alone, Professor."

"Alone?" Scorpius repeated.

"Head back up to the school, please, Scorpius," Professor Longbottom said, not taking his eyes off Rose.

"But sir—"

"Take those dirty dishes with you, too."

Scorpius sighed heavily, retrieving the bundled up table cloth. Still, he couldn't keep the smile from his face. After all, it had been a rather ideal middle-aged person's dinner date up until just then, and he didn't have much reason to complain.

* * *

Perhaps the one thing that had made October such a treat was the knowledge that the Halloween Feast was coming up. It was cause for excitement, not merely because of the usual fanfare and exciting delicacies, but also because rumour had it (Lily was partly responsible for spreading it) that the Hogwarts Ghosts would be reenacting the Founders decision to first set up the school.

Roxanne and Lysander were setting up the Great Hall right after classes, along with Hagrid, who was moving some of his larger pumpkins up to the school. Rose had spent most of the day with Albus and Scorpius, speculating what food would be dished up for their enjoyment.

"Merlin, do you think they'll have those little sweet pumpkin pasties from last year? Those were delicious."

"Is food _always_ on your mind?" Albus asked drily as they headed to the courtyard.

"Almost exclusively," Rose nodded.

"Oi, Albus!"

Despite the fact only Albus was called, all three of them turned. Lorcan Scamander was jogging up the hallway, his Gryffindor scarf flapping behind him. He came to a panting halt in front of the trio. "Have you seen your bother?"

"James?"

"How many brothers do you have?"

"No," Albus said, shaking his head. "Not since breakfast."

"Merlin, he's just vanished on me again." Lorcan seemed to notice both Rose and Scorpius all at once. He grinned, a bit too widely. "Getting set to lose?"

"I think you mean you're getting set to lose," Scorpius replied instantly.

"Er, I dunno. Rumour has it you lot aren't meshing very well," Lorcan said, turning his hand to imply a so-and-so motion.

"Haven't you heard not to believe everything you hear?" Rose said, throwing out her chest. "We're playing like goddam professionals."

"Really? Because I've been training my team like an amry. Haven't I, Albus?"

"He certainly has," Albus replied.

"Well, we'll just have to wait and see who comes out on top next month," Scorpius said evenly.

Lorcan's eyes darted between the two Slytherins, now inspired with mischief. "What if we make the stakes a bit more interesting."

"I don't gamble," Scorpius said warily.

Lorcan began to laugh. He thumped Scorpius' shoulder so hard he almost toppled him over. "Nah, mate. What' I'm thinking is the losing team has to throw the winning team an after party in their common room."

"Slytherins don't let _anyone_ into our common room," Scorpius replied seriously.

"Then you better make sure you don't lose," he grinned cockily. He gave a final look to Albus. "If you see him, tell James I'm looking for him." With that, he gave them a salute and turned on his heel.

"We really shouldn't have made that deal," Scorpius muttered, genuinely worried now. "We're playing like a bunch of blind morons in practice."

"You realise I play for the opposition," Albus said slowly. "Stop telling me this."

"I think I'm going to have a panic attack," Scorpius said, clutching at his throat. He really did look more afraid than Rose had ever seen him.

"Oi!" she said, giving him a bit of a shake. "Snap out of it! It's Halloween! This is a holiday for joy and food, not pessimism and panic attacks."

"It's actually a holiday of monsters and terror," Albus corrected. "Let Scorpius be panicked if that feels right to him."

"It's for joy and _food_ ," Rose insisted, looking deeply aggrieved that they had not grasped this yet.

By the time the Feast had come around, everyone seemed to have food on their minds. The Hall looked as decadent as it smelt—floating pumpkins bobbing above their heads, replacing the usual candles while live bats flapping around the staff table—and the tables were a feast for the eyes as well as the stomach, with platters upon platters of unusual delicacies. After weeks of bland meals, everyone seemed desperate to dig in.

The House Ghosts did in fact perform the Founding History of Hogwarts, a short spectral play that involved the Bloody Baron delivering all but two lines while Nearly Headless Nick adlibbed self-indulgently on a ten minute monologue about the Sorting Hat. Once their audience clapped politely, everyone turned to face the food, more than ready to dig in. Just as plates were being past around and shared, the first pop sounded in the room.

A few Hufflepuff looked up, laughing in confusion. The sound wasn't very loud—it sounded like a balloon bursting—and confetti had rained over their heads. After a bit of delighted confusion, there was a second pop, then a third. People began to look up.

Hugo noticed a smaller pumpkin floating above them pop, confetti raining down. Then another, a few seconds later. He grabbed Lily and pointed up to get her attention, confused as to whether this was a part of the festivities. Then the pumpkins began popping in greater frequency, getting the entire Hall's attention. _Pop, pop. Pop pop pop._

There was a lull. Confetti flittered towards the tables, littering people's hair and dusting the food. Everyone craned their necks, looking up at the largest pumpkins—ranging in size from beach balls to boulders—that bobbed silently above their tables.

Then, in a burst of sound that shook the crockery, all of the pumpkins exploded. Pieces of orange vegetable flew projectile-like in all directions, splattering the walls. People screamed, wiping the gooey interior out of their eyes. But the tumult continued, and instead of being filled with confetti, the larger pumpkins were filled with exploding fireworks. The upset bats screeched above the student's heads as shocking orange Catherine wheels whizzed through the air.

The Gryffindor table was particularly up in arms, as a prank this big could only be the work of a Weasley or Potter. Albus was shaking pumpkin out of his hair while Lily had her hands clamped over her ears. To their surprise, it was neither of them who reacted first. Roxanne stood on her seat, baring down on James.

"THIS IS WHAT YOU HAD IN MIND FOR A GRADUATING PRANK?" she roared, her tight curls covered in pumpkin squash.

"You'll never prove anything!" James laughed back wildly, also getting up to stand on his bench. Roxanne scooped up a pumpkin pie from the table and threw it with her Chaser's arm right at Jame's face. He copped most of it in the chin, the smile faltering. He grabbed a goblet filled with pumpkin juice. "You want to play dirty, Weasley?"

"Oh, you know it Potter," she seethed.

Soon, all of Gryffindor had dissolved into a food fight. Teachers were rushing down from the staff table, trying to contain the exploding fireworks so they could get themselves heard over the din. Hugo Weasley and Lily Potter had taken shelter under the table with a plate of Pumpkin Cannelloni that they were throwing at people like grenades. Albus had upended a bowl of pumpkin and carrot soup on Lucy Bird while Imogen Abercrombie had gone after Lorcan Scamander with a series of projectile bread rolls. Everyone was filthy and everything was orange.

"What an absolute waste of food," Rose cried, staring in disbelief as they upended dish after dish. Scorpius stared at the madness of Gryffindor table, blinking rapidly.

"Your family truly frightens me."

"What are you two doing standing about?" Albus yelled, sprinting towards them. Before they had a chance to react, he had lobbed a pot of risotto at them both. Rose squealed, the gooey rice sticking to her face while Scorpius attempted and failed to duck.

Rose grabbed a chunk of exploded pumpkin and threw it overarm at Albus. He darted out of the way at the last minute, so the pumpkin hit the back of Isabella's glossy black hair. She turned, already drawing in a sharp inhalation.

"How _dare_ you, Weasley!"

"Oh, give it a rest, Nott," Zabini called, picking up a handful of bat livers and throwing them at her.

Soon, the food fight had spread, taking on small skirmishes all over the Hall. Professor Drummond was calling for order. Stella Bellucci was hiding behind her tall-backed chair. Neville Longbottom was wiping pumpkin off the table and sucking it off his finger.

Meanwhile, Angus Finnigan—covered from head to toe in various morsels of pumpkin related food—was laughing.

It was the first time he had laughed in months, and it was brilliant.

* * *

 **A/N: I think of all the bloody subplots I wove into this story and now I have to unweave them all and bring about resolutions and it actually makes me feel nauseous. Oh well, good writing practice.**

 **I worked overtime to get this done and didn't send it to my Beta because I wanted to post it before the end of April. Consider all my typos a gift to you. Read and review!**

 **Ps. I am the worst at writing song lyrics but I listened to Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros for inspiration this time 'round. You know Teddy would love them.**


	9. Chapter Nine

**—** **Chapter Nine—**

Victoire could hear his heartbeat through his chest. It pounded against her ear as if it were knocking, asking to be let inside. It was a plump and indulgent sound, this _thump-de-thump,_ too wild and riderless to gallop under his silky skin. She trailed her fingers over the hair on his belly and sighed.

"I'm going mad in this house," she said quietly, before closing her eyes. His hands wove through her hair. "I'm alone here all day."

She was not a creature that should live contained and the walls of Grimmauld Place were wearing her thin. Alone for long stretches of the afternoon, she would blast music to fill up the quietness—she would sometimes set the Portrait of Walburga Black off just to have someone to yell at. The silence of the place was stifling.

But Teddy would sing whenever he would get through the door. He would purposely set off the Portrait of Walburga Black to have someone to yell at. He would clatter pans in the kitchen until she would eventually come downstairs to help.

"Percy left the country," Teddy said. "But I don't think you could do that."

"I don't want to flee," she reasoned, her ear still to his chest, her arm around his waist. "I want to _fight_."

"You'll get your chance."

"I think about all this trouble they've caused. To us personally," she added, her voice sharper than usual. "And I want to go out there and hex every person and goblin I see."

"You're a madwoman," Teddy replied, in the same light tone.

"I love you," Victoire sighed, saying it for the first time since returning home. It felt brave to say it, after everything that had happened. After the last few surreal nightmarish months. It felt crazy to say it after she had been the one to slink away, to disappear into her own heartbreak and the wild dragon territory of Transylvania. It felt brave, but true, and she knew that Teddy would not flinch or frown or think twice about it. He would say, I love you too, as he had said a million times before.

"Marry me."

His heart still drummed against her cheek. In the silence that followed, its pace picked up a little. Teddy's hands continued to brush her hair, patient and gentle. Victoire sat up to look at him, her chin on his chest. The dust of the attic swirled above his head, caught in the morning light. The stubble around Teddy's mouth was a dark navy, bristling against her fingers as she wiped the smile off his face.

"You better not be joking," she said quietly.

"When have you ever known me to joke," he replied, utterly serious.

Victoire sat back now. Her heels sank into the mattress. Her heart was pounding.

"Well, _frankly_ , it would be better if you were joking," she scolded, flushed. "Do you really think you can ask me to marry you on impulse? Do you really think I'd say yes to some lazy, _crazy_ , _spontaneous_ proposal?"

As she continued to berate him, her face burning with humiliation, Teddy casually reached under the mattress to pull out a chocolate frog packet. He held it out to Victoire, but she only glared at it, incensed.

"Do you _really_ think you can give me a chocolate frog to _pacify_ me after the most half-arsed proposal in the world?"

"Merlin, woman, just open the chocolate frog," he huffed, tearing off the top of the packet with his teeth and thrusting it into her hands. It was not heavy like a chocolate frog ought to be, and when she tipped the packet into her hand, a ring fell into her open palm. For a moment, it felt as if her heart had stopped.

"If there wasn't a bounty on your head, I would have followed through with this magnificent proposal. One that I've been planning for, say, three years?" Teddy said casually, picking up the wedding ring so the diamond caught the light. "But we're stuck in this godforsaken house," he lamented, gesturing to his surroundings with the ring. "And I needed to ask you before Christmas. Because I really want to start the New Year as your husband."

Victoire continued to stare at the ring, utterly speechless. Somehow, she was beginning to think this was all one big absurd prank. Everything. The ring. The proposal. Getting back together. Their weird four months apart. It was one big joke that he had somehow orchestrated.

"So I've been jamming chocolate frogs down your throat like we used to do as kids, and hoping to hide this in a stash for you to open in the perfect moment. But honestly, I'm tired of waiting for perfect moments. Let's just make this the perfect moment. Let's just get married and make more perfect moments."

Victoire looked at him, blinking away her shock. It felt like she had just woken from a deep sleep, the fog of a dream hanging on her. For the first time during this entire conversation, Teddy looked concerned.

"Are you going to say no?"

Her stomach flipped. "Don't you think we're rushing into this?"

"I've wanted to marry you since the day I graduated from Hogwarts," he said, his eyebrows furrowed. He slipped his hands into hers. "I would have married you last year. But everything sort of fell to shit, and that was actually a good thing. Because those four months without you made me realise that I need to spend the rest of my life with you. I've never been surer of anything."

Victoire gazed at the ring in his hand. It was a modest size, but the gem was a beautiful, sparkling diamond that twinkled blue in the light, like a pale star. It felt impossible that it was about to go onto her finger, but it also felt like the most ordinary thing in the world.

Somehow, Teddy was still finding ways to fill up the silence.

"Before you start thinking this was _crazy_ or _spontaneous_ ," he said, using jazz hands to emphasise the words, "I've been carrying that ring around since the night of your welcome home party. I went to my gran's with every intention of avoiding you, but she gave me that ring, and she said that I needed to go find you and make things right. I wasn't sure how long that would take or even if it were possible, but I knew at that point that I had to try, and try, and keep at it. And I bloody well did, even when you were being difficult. Even when you insisted on being just friends. I think this is as right as it's going to get, because whether we've been back together a year or a month, I know that being with you feels as natural and necessary as breath—"

Victoire pressed her fingers against Teddy's mouth, bringing him to an abrupt, spluttering halt. He stared at her, hazel eyes catching the light.

"I'm going to put this ring on my finger. And then I'm going to kiss you," she said slowly. "So I need you to stop talking."

She slid the ring onto her finger, admiring the way it caught the light, before she leaned forward and kissed him.

She leaned back, still staring at Teddy. All her emotions pounded through her at once, leaving her speechless. Teddy brushed his hands over her hair, tucking it behind her ears.

"You want to get married by December?" It was probably the most difficult concept to wrap her head around.

"Let's just wing it," he said in his usual keyed up way, taking her hands again. When Teddy spoke like this, it was hard not to believe him. She could see his vision exactly how he saw it—wonderful and possible, brimming with promise. "I'm so over being your boyfriend. I just want to be your husband."

"I just want to be your wife," she agreed. All the heat in her body seemed to catch up with her mind, sending it into overdrive. Teddy Lupin wanted to marry her. Teddy Lupin, her best friend. Teddy Lupin, her childhood sweetheart. Teddy Lupin, the blue-haired, piercing-studded, tattooed miscreant who had taken Victoire by the hand and co-piloted the ride. She could feel the heat rush up to her like a torrent, about to explode, and it came out in tears. "Let's get married," she snivelled, her face crumpling like paper. She hiccupped before throwing her arms around Teddy's neck.

Teddy held her tightly, fingers pressing into her skin.

"I can't believe you're the one crying. This is so unlike us," he said.

"I'm crying," she said between gasps, "because there was no chocolate frog inside the packet and—it's really disappointing."

"Sorry. I always forget how much you Weasley's love food. I suppose I can trade you my mother's wedding ring for a chocolate frog."

Victoire sniffed, leaning away to hold him by the shoulders. Her bottom lip still trembled as she tried out a watery smile.

"Chocolate frog cake toppers."

"Deal."

* * *

Rose did not know what being singled out by her fag-masters meant—only that she was accountable to them. When she left her dormitory one Wednesday morning, she found Zelda leaning against the wall opposite, arms crossed and head tilted back. Rose hesitated, hand on the doorknob, school bag over one shoulder. This felt like a mafia deal.

"Walk with me," Zelda said, pushing herself off the wall and starting for the common room. Rose fell into step behind her.

"I need to know how the girls are doing," Zelda said quietly as they headed towards the secret passage. "Any misconduct or drama?"

"They're doing fine," Rose replied drily. She thought about it for a moment. "Is this how the seventh years decided who gets a midnight raid? Based on which girls are causing drama?"

"Or misconduct," Zelda added.

"Well," Rose frowned as they started through the dungeon corridors, "if there's anyone dealing with drama, it's the sixth year girls."

"How so?"

Rose knew that tattling would mean that she and her roommates would be on the battering end of some nocturnal operation, but a part of her felt compelled to tell the truth. Perhaps it was the sense of duty that was attached to being a junior fag-master. Perhaps a sadistic side of her wanted her roommates to be punished, even if it meant she would suffer also. Either way, Rose told Zelda everything—from Alice's feud over Buckingham to Isabella's fury over Zabini.

"It's affecting Quidditch, too?" Zelda prompted as they got to the ground floor.

"We're a complete mess on the pitch," Rose admitted. "Not because we can't play well. We just can't play well together."

Zelda hesitated by the doors of the Great Hall, her face serious as she considered this. She fingered her prefect badge nervously before glancing back down at Rose. "I'll talk to Gallo and we'll sort it out. Thanks for the report."

Rose was left at the door as the seventh year girl joined her friends for breakfast. She sighed heavily and faked a curtsey before joining Albus at the Gryffindor table to get some breakfast.

* * *

Rose wasn't sure if the events of that Wednesday were karma for ratting out the rest of her roommates over their petty dormitory drama. However, whether she believed it was karma or not, the day got significantly worse. For instance, she did not intend on winding up in the Hospital Wing midway through her Wednesday classes, and yet, she found herself being ministered to by distractible Hannah Longbottom, who was ranting rather furiously about her husband's idiocy. Rose had other things on her mind, things that seemed even more important than poison and death. Because she always seemed to find herself in the wrong place at the wrong time hearing the wrong bits of information.

The unfortunate mishap began in the first lesson of the day, which happened to be Herbology. Professor Longbottom, who seemed intent on keeping everyone away from their usual partners, sorted the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs into pairs. This was how Rose found herself beside Naomi Bones, feeling a certain level of foreboding. Naomi was, likewise, refusing to acknowledge her existence.

They were gathered at the front of Greenhouse Three, in front of the chalkboard. The long workbench behind them was covered in a white sheet, concealing something that thrashed beneath it. It looked like an aggressive marshmallow.

Professor Longbottom seemed to be in an exceptionally good mood, pacing before them all with a slight skip to his step. After they were all sorted into pairs, he turned to jot something on the board. Rose did not fail to notice that Naomi Bones was staring at him rather dreamily, her head tilted to the side as she stared at the growth on his jaw. Even Rose, who considered her teacher akin to an uncle, understood his appeal. The dragon hide gloves, dirt-stained robes, muscular arms and ex-Auror status made him somewhat a super hero. Today, he almost seemed to be bouncing with excitement, which instantly had his class on the edge.

"The Venomous Tentacula," he said, underlining the word on the chalkboard. He faced the class, a smile quirking his lips. "One of the most dangerous plants you will have worked with up until this point. Who can tell me why?"

Several hands shot into the air, Rose one of them. Professor Longbottom pointed to Alice Lim.

"It expels venom from its shoots and its thorns can kill you if they break the skin," she said expertly.

"Good, good. But we're missing one last thing," Professor Longbottom said. "Anyone?"

Again, several hands shot into the air like beanstalks. This time, Naomi Bones answered. "It can also bite, and its poison is fatal if left untreated."

"Great. Both Hufflepuff and Slytherin can take ten points."

Professor Longbottom rounded the throng of students, moving towards the long workbench. Everyone followed him nervously. Scorpius stood at the front of the group, more intrigued than uneasy. With a squish of his wand, Professor Longbottom sent the white tarp up off the table, revealing the octopus-like stumps that occupied the length of the bench. They were hideous and almost appeared to be alive—large gaping mouths opened in the trunks, while tentacles covered in thorns whipped at the air. In this way, they reminded Rose of the Whomping Willow. She had no intention of going near them.

And yet, their instructions were very simple. The pair of students who were able to first extract the juice of the Venomous Tentacula would be exempt from writing a fifteen-inch essay about the process in question. Rose understood exactly where Professor Longbottom was going with this but wasn't all too keen on it—this was a fair bit more _dangerous_ than a silly Potion's prac.

With dragon hide gloves and thick goggles, she and Naomi had approached the stump with a distinct lack of teamwork. So, without a plan of attack, it wasn't surprising that severing its tentacles and trying to extract its leaves resulted in a set of prickly, thorny teeth sinking inches deep into Rose's arm. She yelped so loudly that most of the room turned to look her way.

Naomi sent a stunning spell at the plant and it relinquished its teeth, but a throbbing sensation was already prickling Rose's arm.

"It probably didn't even break the skin," Naomi said, tugging up Rose's school robes. She took a hasty step back. Two rows of puncture marks were deep in her bicep, the skin around the marks already turning a gruesome purple.

And so, after a very panicked response from Professor Longbottom, Rose was being taken to the hospital wing by Naomi Bones (who looked as if she'd rather be anywhere else.) The throbbing in Rose's arm had quickly spread to a burning sensation in the right side of her body. A swelling nausea was beginning in her stomach, so by the time she got to the hospital wing doors, she was insisting Naomi leave. If she was about to lose her ability to control her bowels, she would prefer to be away from the girl who couldn't stand her guts.

She pushed into the hospital wing alone, the burning sensation now racing through her veins and making her head light. She could hear Hannah talking, her voice low and soft and reassuring, her shadowy silhouette behind a drawn curtain dappled with sunlight. Rose moved towards it, reaching out to seize the curtain. But out of habit, she paused to listen.

"I'm sorry, but I can't give you the Draught of Living Death, it's far too dangerous to be taking on a regular basis. If I crush Valerian root into a paste, you can take that nightly. It's a natural sedative."

"I'll probably need something stronger."

And even in her poison-addled mind, Rose was _certain_ that it was James Potter behind the curtain. She knew her cousin's voice, even as rough and croaky as it was then. It was some cruel irony that she was always around to eavesdrop on him. Still, she quelled her conscience and held her breath to listen.

"If you're having troubles sleeping, I can brew you The Draught of Peace. That should probably stop any night terrors."

"Alright," James agreed, defeated and low. "Whatever it takes to get Lorcan off my back. I'm sick of him."

James' voice was too quiet. He never spoke softly. It was as if someone was turning down the volume. Rose wondered whether this was just the poison, because the vision in her right eye was failing now.

"James," Hannah said urgently, her shadow sliding towards him. "If you're having these night terrors persistently, maybe you need to talk about it. We can block out a free period to just chat about whatever it is that's bothering you."

"I don't need to chat," James said sharply. "I just need a potion."

"You won't be able to rely on The Draught of Peace for more than a few weeks, or else you'll get addicted to it. If this problem is persisting, then I _must_ recommend—"

But Rose never found out what the Matron had to recommend. For in those final seconds, her body broke into a shivery sweat and a dark cloud swallowed the vision in her right eye. She felt the world tilt on a dizzying axis before she crashed to the floor.

When she came to, she was in a hospital bed, her right arm horribly swollen and purple, but otherwise much improved. The only thing bothering her was her parched throat. James sat beside her, a forced smile on his pale face. He gave her good hand a little squeeze.

"Oh, goodness, I was _so_ worried," Hannah groaned, bustling forward with a face so pale she looked like the curtain around the bed.

Rose clutched her throat, shaking her head.

"We had to shove a bezoar down your throat," James said, patting her hand now. "It was all really dramatic.

"We didn't know how long the poison had been in your system," Hannah explained. "How do you feel?"

Rose stared at James, the clouded feeling lifting from her mind the longer she looked at him. There was a bit of fluff on his chin, and his usually ruddy, freckled complexion was pale and gaunt. Bags hung under his eyes like jellyfish pouches.

"I feel fine," she said, staring at him with furrowed brows. Her voice was husky. "A Venomous Tentacula bit me."

"Gnarly," James said, pulling a face. Hannah was testing Rose's temperature, her wand in Rose's ear. After a moment, James shuffled to his feet. "You should probably rest. You look like shit."

"Thanks."

He smiled a cocky little smile that was a shadow of his usual grin. He nodded to Hannah before leaving and Rose was still thinking about his gaunt face when Hannah asked her to recount exactly what had happened.

Upon mentioning Professor Longbottom's attempt to mix things up in Herbology, Hannah became as volatile as the Venomous Tentacula. Her nostrils flared, and her usually plain face took on an air of fury. "He did _what_?" she demanded, her voice quailing. "Does he think he's playing _games_ with you lot? This is Herbology, for Merlin's sake! It's one of the most dangerous subjects there is!"

Under different circumstances, Rose would have scoffed. But she had been underestimating N.E.W.T. Herbology.

"I was being careless," Rose placated.

"That's _no_ excuse. He suddenly feels threatened because some new teacher is on his turf and he's acting like a bloody child," Hannah said vehemently, uncorking a bright red potion. She held it out to Rose, who knew better than to argue. "As if we don't have _enough_ to worry about!"

* * *

In spite of it all, Rose's Wednesday continued to get worse. She missed the next three periods, spending most of the day in the hospital wing under observation. When she found Scorpius at the end of the day, she was convinced she would get some sympathy. Instead, he handed her the homework she had missed and wiggled her sleeve up for inspection.

"How's your arm?"

"Sort of bruised, but otherwise fine."

"Any pain?"

"Not too much."

"Good," he said, flicking her sleeve back down. "I expect to see you at Quidditch practice tonight."

" _What_?" Rose squawked, jogging to catch up with him.

"I'd usually make an exception but the match is this weekend."

"I had my arm chewed off by a poisonous stump!"

"Please," Scorpius drawled, rolling his eyes. "People have swallowed the juice of the Venomous Tentacula and survived. What's a little nip in the arm to Rose Weasley?"

"Er, it was more like a _chomp_ ," she complained, hastening along behind him.

They didn't get very far, for someone was calling for their attention.

"Oi! You two snakes," James Potter hollered, pushing past students to get to the two Slytherins. Both Rose and Scorpius paused to allow him to catch up. He was slightly out of breath, his usually jittery self. "How're you feeling Rose?"

"Not well enough to play Quidditch," she pouted. Scorpius rolled her eyes.

"You should cut her some slack. They shoved a Bezoar down her throat," James said, jerking a thumb at his cousin.

Scorpius turned, mortified. His eyes were now as wide as sickles. The transformation was so fast it was almost comical. " _What_? And you told me you were _fine_?"

"I told you I wasn't well enough to play Quidditch."

"You said it was just _bruises_ ," Scorpius wheedled, suddenly alarmed. He yanked back her sleeve to examine the purplish vessels under her skin. For a moment, Rose was convinced Scorpius was feeling genuine remorse and concern. Then, she heard him mutter, "I wonder whether you'd be alright swinging a Beater's Bat…"

"I need a favour," James said, cutting over their bickering. Rose turned expectantly, but to her surprise, James wrapped his arm around Scorpius' lanky shoulders. The younger Slytherin tensed up like a cat. "How do you feel about soliciting your services, Malfoy?"

"My services?" he repeated dubiously.

"Apparently you're the king of potions. How much can I pay you to get a Draught of Living Death?"

Scorpius glanced suspiciously at Rose before heaving a sigh. "If this is for some dangerous prank…"

"It's not," James reassured him. "I just need a nip for a good night's sleep."

"I'm sorry, but I don't even have the right ingredients. Try crushed Valerian root. It's a natural sedative."

James sighed, pushing Scorpius away heavily. He shrugged his bag back onto his shoulder before checking his watch. "You're all useless," he said blatantly before saluting them. He disappeared towards the Defence classrooms.

"Honestly, I'm really worried about James," Rose frowned.

"I think you have enough to worry about without adding him to the list," Scorpius said, pausing to examine her arm again.

"Who won the competition, by the way?"

Scorpius delicately extracted his hand from her sleeve and blushed. She rolled her eyes.

"You did. Of course."

* * *

Rose had attended the Quidditch practice to merely watch from the stands, something that earned her several contemptible looks as all her teammates were forced through a series of painful drills and technical plays.

She returned to the common room shivery and cold, but otherwise without complaint, as the rest of the team eased themselves into chairs under aching limbs. Scorpius had detoured to the library to collect a book, and it gave the team their first chance to talk without the captain present.

"We're all over the place," Sterling complained, taking a seat by the fire "and apparently Malfoy's made some sort of wager about an after party."

"Well, we know _why_ we're all over the place," Buckingham said underhandedly. He refused to look at Alice and Meredith, but everyone else did. Meredith was completely immune to this, but Alice steeled herself. She was always on the defense these days—both verbally and physically, unable to still get the Quaffle past Buckingham. Her offence was terrible.

"We've been working really hard," she said coldly. "And I know I can get that ball through the hoops once I'm under pressure."

"You _are_ under pressure," Fleischer replied, crossing his arms and wincing.

"Give it a rest," Rose said, glaring at the boys. "Lim always does well under pressure. Just worry about yourself."

She felt Alice look at her, then look away quickly. Sterling shrugged.

"If we lose, Malfoy will skin us alive," he said. "And I honestly don't think I can handle Gryffindors in our common room. That food fight last month was mental."

Meredith bounced up brightly, her smile stretching from ear to ear. "I think we'll be brilliant." Her voice was ringing with her boundless optimism. "The game's coming up this weekend and I think we're all starting to feel like a team."

Rose blinked at her slowly. It was difficult to believe she had been listening to the same conversation.

* * *

It was late into the night, late enough so everyone had dissolved into sleep. Rose had been dreaming about a tree with a long swinging ladder. The tree glowed, making everything seem like daylight, but the corners of her mind were shadowy. She craned her head but couldn't see the top. She raised her arms to grab hold of the ladder but her arm seared with pain.

Rose was woken by a hand on her arm—her bad arm, where she had been bitten earlier in the day. She howled, startling herself out of her dreams. The other girls in her form were also being pulled out of bed. Frog marched from the room. Pushed up the stairs. They squawked and yelled, making far too much noise for that time of morning, and then they were unceremoniously shoved into the common room, the door to the dormitories slamming behind them.

Estelle reached out to jiggle at the handle but it was locked. They stood there, each in different pyjamas and nightclothes, bewildered and dazed—and then slowly—horrified.

"Who has a wand?" Rose asked.

"I do," Alice said, and she was indeed clutching it. She was the only one who had carried hers down. Rose's wand was still under her pillow. Her bad arm was throbbing; reminding her of the reason her reflexes had been dulled. But Alice also slept with her wand (poking out of her mattress) and she had clearly had the foresight to grab it. Night raids by the seventh years had taught them these basic skills.

Alice moved forward and tried to unlock the door with an easy Unlocking Charm, but nothing happened. Sonia was squinting around the room, which was only dimly lit by the dying fire. She moved towards one of the tables.

"There's a note here," she called, picking it up and weaving her way towards them. "Someone give me a light."

Alice lit the end of her wand and pointed it at the parchment.

"Something is missing between the five of you, something integral to all those who call themselves Slytherins. We have let clues," Sonia stopped, frowning at the poorly lit parchment. "Sorry. _Left_ clues in this room. When you retrieve the final clue, you will fend— _find_ the password to open the dormitory door. You will also find what all of you are missing. You will need to be cunning and resourceful. You will also need to work together. Good luck."

Rose felt herself break into a cold sweat. Knowing the door was locked beyond any magic they could use, she still attempted to jiggle the doorhandle free. It remained firmly locked. Being locked in a room with the girls who hated her guts was so nightmarish that she pinched herself to make sure she wasn't still asleep.

"Something's missing from the five of us," Estelle repeated, wrinkling her nose. "Have they _taken_ something from us? Hidden it?"

"Spread out and look for clues," Alice said, holding her wand aloft.

"Maybe we're better off just waiting until someone comes up here and opens the door from the other side," Sonia shrugged.

"It's two in the morning, Sonia," Estelle barked. "No one will be coming up to the common room for at least six hours."

Rose took the letter from Sonia, determined to look as if she was being useful. She wasn't sure exactly what more could be gleaned from it, but she didn't want to be engaged by the others. Isabella, on the other hand, followed Alice with her wand, moving through the room to search for any potential clues. The awkwardness between Sonia and Estelle only grew until Sonia decided to flop down onto the sofa by the fire.

It was strange, but Sonia had not misread the letter. It was filled with errors, the sort of poor misspelling prone to a ten year old. Rose moved towards the fire to better see the letter.

"There's a hat on this table," Isabella called to no one in particular. "With a Chocolate Frog card stuck into it. That might be a clue."

Rose leaned down to examine the letter again.

 _Something is missing between the five of you, something integral to all those who call themselves Slytherins. We have let clues in this room. When you retrieve the final clue, you will fend the password to open the domitory door. You will also find what all of you are missing. You will need to be cunning and resourcful. You will also need to work together. Good luck._

The spelling errors seemed too deliberate to be accidental. Rose trailed her finger under the line, squinting. The first was _let_ which should have been left. Alice had used her wand to light the green lamps around the room, and Rose now stood to hurry over to a study table. She scavenged over a few broken quills before finding a blunt pencil.

"I said look for clues, not catch up on homework," Alice called as she searched the bookshelf. "Honestly, Weasley. Do you prioritise study over everything?"

Rose ignored her. Using the pencil, she wrote the letter f at the bottom of the page. Slowly, she began working her way through the incorrect words, jotting down the letter that had been missed or replaced until she had her answer at the bottom.

"I know where the first clue is," she called, leaping out of her seat. Everyone turned to her in surprise, but she was already jogging back towards the now puckering fire. She leaned down, her knees just before the grate. She used the pencil to prod through the ash until she found a small, rolled up piece of parchment, covered in soot. She slid it out of the grill and unfurled it. The girls now gathered around to hear her read it. But it was only three words.

"Check the time."

Sonia glanced at her watch. "It's ten past two."

"That doesn't mean anything," Alice sighed. "Maybe it's a riddle?"

Isabella was moving back from the direction she had come from. "It's probably the grandfather clock," she said, motioning to it. The other girls turned, waiting for her to explain. "The clock is frozen on seven o'clock."

She was right, too. There was no low ticking sound and the hands were indeed frozen. The girls followed Isabella towards it. As she passed a bust of Merlin sitting on a plinth, she grabbed the tophat she had mentioned earlier and put it on her head. A chocolate frog card stuck out of the satin sweatband, and as Isabella came to a halt before the large, clunky clock, Rose thought oddly of the Mad Hatter in Alice in Wonderland.

The girls were all pondering what seven o'clock could mean when Estelle raised her hand to silence them. She twisted her body in increments, first to ninety degrees and then one-eighty. With a final turn, she stood staring at the opposite side of the room. She crossed directly to that point, stopping before the bookshelf there. Seven o'clock. It was referring to the angles of the clock hands. Estelle had used this technique a million times while gossiping with Sonia, who always failed to properly turn her gaze in accordance with the figurative clock hands.

Estelle ran her fingers along the shelves until she triumphantly pulled out a note. The next clue. "In the beginning, there were four..."

The line was instantly familiar. The girls all looked at one another. Alice and Rose were the only half-bloods there, and as Alice took Muggle Studies, she had the boldness to say what Rose hesitated to speak aloud. "It sounds like the opening of Genesis. In the beginning."

"It's not as if there's a Bible on this shelf," Rose frowned.

Sonia began to trail her fingers over the leather bound tombs. "Maybe it's a quote."

"It would take us hours to search these," Estelle reasoned. "They wouldn't just give us a quote to find."

But Rose was certain she knew this line. It drifted back to her in the sound of her mother's voice, hushed and steady over bedtime books that she and Hugo never really wanted to read. _In the beginning, there were four wizards and witches with extraordinary gifts, each with a desire to pass their knowledge onto others._

"It's the first line of the first chapter in _Hogwarts: A History_ ," Rose said, reaching forward to find the book on the shelf. She pulled it down and flipped it open, only to find the inside of the book had been hollowed out so it opened like a treasure box. Inside was a pair of glasses. They looked like something out of _The Quibbler_ —radical winged frames and purple lenses. They came with a tag that said 'what would you wear me with?'

"Absolutely nothing," Sonia said as she read the tag. She wrinkled her nose. "Those are so kitsch."

"It's the next clue," Estelle berated. But not in the harsh way that they had all become accustomed to. Rather, it was in the way that she and Sonia used to speak—a kind of bickering that verged onto deprecation but with enough affection to absolve offence. "What would you wear glasses with?"

"A hat," Isabella said, pointing at the tophat she was still wearing. "Naturally."

"A hat," Alice agreed, taking the glasses and passing them to Isabella. She tried them on. No one was exactly sure what they were expecting, but nothing happened.

"Hang on," Sonia said, reaching forward to pluck the chocolate frog card off the hat—the bio was on Merlin, a common card to get—and held it in front of Isabella's now purple-tinted eyes. "What about now?"

"Oh!" Isabella cried, gesturing at the card. "Invisible ink!"

"Brilliant," Sonia grinned. "What does it say?"

"Don't sweep it under the carpet," Isabella read.

The girls instantly made their way to the large, green, tasselled rug with the Persian design. They began flipping back the corners of the carpet, searching for their next clue. Isabella slid her hand beneath it to retrieve a slip of parchment, dyed green. She held it up to inspect. "This is it, I think."

Again, the girls assembled around the clue. In neat handwriting, the following was written.

 _There are five traits of Slytherin. Resourcefulness, Cunning, Ambition, Self-Preservation…the final trait is the password._

The girls sat around the carpet. Some were kneeling, like Rose and Alice. Others perched on the coffee table or armchair, like Estelle or Sonia. They were all gathered together, for the first time in a long time, but none of them were capable of answering this most simple of clues. It was basic trivia knowledge. All of them should have known the traits of a Slytherin by heart. Those listed on the paper all seemed obvious; it was impossible to think they were missing something.

"Resourcefulness, Cunning, Ambition, Self-Preservation," Isabella repeated quietly. The glasses slid down her nose. "Resourcefulness, Cunning, Ambition, Self-Preservation, resourcefulness, cunning…"

"Fraternity," Alice said. The others looked up at her. She looked very squeamish. She glanced back over at the locked door and stood up. Eventually, each of her roommates followed, Rose bringing up the rear. They faced the locked door. "Fraternity," Alice repeated.

The door swung open. No one really knew what to say to each other. Scavenging for clues had felt silly, but it had also been purpose driven. It had forced their cooperation. Now, they were left feeling awkward and uncomfortable in the wake of their own pettiness. They had all been missing something they hadn't realised was integral to their cohesion—their mutual support, their reciprocated respect, the sisterhood determined by being a Slytherin. They had forsaken that along the way, and now it was blaringly evident.

Alice stood aside. Sonia and Isabella and Estelle gradually shifted past her, without speaking a word to one another. They had all ducked their heads. Alice had also dropped her chin to her chest, her slick bob falling into her eyes. She stared at her feet, hand on the doorknob. Rose didn't move, watching her. Certain that this was the moment manufactured for their forgiveness.

She opened her mouth to say something but nothing bubbled up to her lips. Instead, she saw a series of images in her head, each explaining the reason why she and Alice had first become friends. Not because they shared common experiences or interests. Not because of their similar knowledge of muggle lifestyle choices. They had become friends out of a mutual need for company; out of a need for underhand humour and note-swapping, for class time companions and potion-partnering. It occurred to Rose that the gap between them was not the result of keeping Tim Buckingham's philandering a secret. It was due to all the times she had neglected that fraternity. The days she had let Alice sit alone while she partnered with Malfoy for potions. The days she had started studying with Nathan Corner instead of Alice. For the Hogsmeade trips they didn't attend together and the train trips home that they sat in separate compartment. The days she had practically let her friend's existence go unnoticed. This was why their fight had turned a gap into a chasm, too wide now to cross with an apology.

Rose opened her mouth to say something—to say that she finally understood why Alice was clinging to this grudge. She was desperately making herself miserable and volatile in an effort to get Rose's attention back. She knew that saying this out loud would somehow make it worse. It would be undignified. So she didn't say anything. She let that chasm crack the earth between them wider, and Alice nervously slipped through the dormitory door and down the steps, returning to a cold bed.

* * *

On that Saturday, the highly anticipated Gryffindor-versus-Slytherin match arrived. There was a buzz between the houses, and even Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw seemed keen to check out their competition as the houses assembled in the stands.

Scorpius was adroit at masking his emotions, but even he thought he was betraying his nerves a little. The rain was coming down hard and they had only every practiced in a drizzle. Moreover, the team was far from ready, despite what he had been telling them—and telling himself.

Sterling was carefully casting Impervius Charms on the robes and faces of their teammates. As the only seventh year on the team, it was fitting that he were the one to do it, yet Scorpius was still anxious that the charms wouldn't hold for long.

Rose pulled her hair into a knotty bun, her brow set in determination. She would be using her bad arm to Beat away Bludgers, and although the Venomous Tentacula had not left any lasting effects, he was worried she would be weaker than usual.

Meredith had certainly improved over their practices, but right then, she was nothing but spitfire adrenalin. She was bouncing so much it was a surprise she wasn't permanently airborne. She was borrowing the school's Cleansweep, something Scorpius was quite apprehensive about. It was a slow broom, but it was the broom Meredith had been practicing on. Even if he could have gotten another Slytherin to lend her a better model for the game, she would be useless flying something that wasn't comfortable. Still, the school's brooms were poor and second-hand. Not what he wanted her flying on.

And, of course, weather like this meant it would be difficult to see the Snitch. He had his work cut out for him, and the pressure was beginning to mount. The longer they played, the more tired they would get. The less likely they would be able to hold their defence.

"We have a lot riding on this," Scorpius said, turning to face them all. His team—newly assembled and nervous—turned to face him with pale faces. "We have that after party bet, but we also have a lot to prove. At the end of the day, any poor choices made out on that pitch come back to me and my judgement."

Everyone nodded silently at this. Scorpius raised his eyebrows. "So don't make any poor choices."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Toby said, swinging his Bat.

The announcer was starting up. Rowan Finnigan had been the Quidditch commentator up until his graduation, and no one recognised the new commentator's voice. It was certainly male. Rose strapped on her gloves and nodded to Scorpius. He grabbed hold of his broom. "Let's do this," he muttered.

The rain was coming down hard. Scorpius felt it plaster his hair flat to his head. Across the pitch, he could see Albus' usually unruly hair was now wet and flat as well—an unusual sight. The Gryffindor team seemed like a wall of muscle and strength. Scorpius gulped down what tasted like bile.

He and Lorcan shook hands, crushing each others fingers. Lorcan flicked the water out of his blue eyes. "There better be alcohol at the after party," he said cockily. "I know the Slytherins are a bit conservative."

"It won't matter," Scorpius replied. "Because we won't be losing."

He said it so convincingly he almost believed himself.

They separated back to their teams and Scorpius mounted his broom. They waited. The whistle blew. They were off.

Scorpius was already flying the perimeter, desperate to spot the Snitch. The Gryffindor's new Seeker was Lily Potter, a tiny speeding speck of red hair and red robes. As they both intersected in their first round of the pitch, he recognised the commentator's voice.

" _And both Seekers are up and off, trying to find the Snitch in this terrible weather. This is Lily Potter's debut flying for Gryffindor—hardly surprising she made the team. I'm sure Scamander wanted to complete the Potter sibling set. It's an interesting team that the Slytherins have lined up as well. Alice Lim is a wild pick, it's like she crawled right out of the woodwork. Not much luck keeping possession there, it looks as if Sterling's doing all the work. Meredith Maxwell, on the other hand, is going to slide right off the back of that pathetic Cleansweep."_

Scorpius turned in mid-air to squint through the downpour, but he couldn't see the commentator. Still, he knew that voice.

" _And James Potter has possession of the Quaffle. He looks absolutely buggered, he's not even flying straight. Maybe being half asleep on your broomstick is some sort of new tactic. He goes to shoot but Buckingham intercepts."_

Lorcan Scamander was yelling at James, who was wheeling desperately about to get the ball off Sterling. Scorpius realised he was _watching_ the game, which was a stupid mistake for a Seeker to make. He turned back to the pitch, combing the grounds, trying to keep the pompous voice of Nathan Corner out of his head.

" _Lee has the Quaffle and is making good speed, but both Lim and Sterling are coming in on either side. It looks like they're going for a_ _Body Blow. Lee can't pass to Weasley and he's running out of Pitch—oh! But Rose Weasley has set a Bludger straight at Lee. She always could pack a punch. More brute strength than a mountain troll."_

Rose looked as if she was cursing her head off. Still, she sent a second Bludger back at James, who almost slipped off his broom in the rain.

Albus was hovering by the goalposts, his eyes darting over the pitch. The Slytherins were approaching with the Quaffle again. Scorpius wheeled around the posts and began flying for the other end. The last time they had played against each other, they hadn't been friends. Scorpius pushed the thought from his mind.

" _Lim and Maxwell are exercising a perfect looping technique. They're flying parallel, passing the ball back and forth. Scamander send a Bludger towards Lim but Fleischer intercepts it. Lim goes to shoot—no, she feints! She passes to Maxwell! Maxwell scores!"_

The crowd broke into cheers. The Slytherins roared with delight. Meredith looped around the goalposts, ecstatic, before returning down the other end.

Maxwell continued to impress. Even Nathan Corner could not keep the tone of surprise from his voice. She scored another three times before Roxanne Potter got the Quaffle past Buckingham. Scorpius was relieved that they were at least in the lead. Still, the Snitch eluded him.

As long as they were in possession, Slytherin kept scoring. Meredith was singlehandedly leading the Chasers now. Even Sterling took no offence in following her plays. She was on fire, scoring goal after goal. Her leadership was unparalleled. She knew when she needed to take charge and knew when to hang back, letting Lim or Sterling take the ball. Her passes were flawless. All the Beaters had to do was make sure the Gryffindor Chasers didn't intercept.

" _Slytherin lead, seventy-thirty. Weasley is about to score again—Roxanne Weasley—and Rose Weasley has just sent a Bludger at her—Merlin, there are too many of them and they all look alike—Roxanne's kept possession and she's heading towards Buckingham. Buckingham starfishes the goalposts. Roxanne tosses the Quaffle high in the air but there's no one to—oh wait. She's turned her broom and hit the Quaffle with the tail. A pretty decent Finbourgh Flick. Still fancy moves aren't going to save Gryffindor this time. They're still down by thirty."_

The bitterness in Corner's voice made Scorpius grin, but he continued to scour the pitch. They were doing far too well to be worried at this point. Then, he noticed the Snitch on the far end, down by the goalposts. Lily had not noticed it yet, but it was closer to her end. Scorpius stayed put, watching the Seeker instead of the Snitch. They were making up points…they were doing better than he had hoped…if they could draw the match out a little while longer…

There was a crash and the whistle was blown. Scorpius flicked his wet, blonde hair from his eyes. The Slytherins were descending upon Rose, who was fuming. She tossed her wet curls from her face.

"Honestly, it was an accident," she yelled, in a tone that did not at all support her reasoning. She was still wielding her bat. Nathan Corner had ducked well out of sight, for she appeared to have sent a Bludger right at his podium. "Lily was right in front of the commentator's booth and he ducked at the last minute."

"Can I call a time out," Scorpius yelled. The referee consented, and he had had his team gather around him.

"Corner called me a troll again," Rose said in a terse voice, blinking water from her eyes.

"He deserved it," Lim agreed.

"I don't care about the foul," Scorpius replied, gripping his broom. "Look, we're doing really well. I'm going to delay catching the Snitch until you lot score one hundred points."

" _What_?" Both Sterling and Fleischer replied.

"You know, the tides might turn really quickly, Malfoy," Alice said lowly. "Maybe we shouldn't be so ambitious."

"I think it's a good idea," Meredith chirped, ringing the water out of her robes. "We only need to score another three times. The longer we draw out the match, the more points we score. The securer our position on the ladder will be."

"Exactly," Scorpius agreed. "This was our strategy last year before Rose joined our team and destroyed our game plan."

"Hey," Rose protested, slightly injured.

"I just need you all to trust me on this," Scorpius insisted, as the ref blew the whistle.

They had no choice. They resumed playing, and Meredith continued scoring. Gryffindor's plays were daring, but the Slytherin Chaser's more conservative route was getting them points. Twice, Scorpius went into a dive for an invisible Snitch just to get Lily down his end of the pitch, away from where the actual Snitch had been spotted. He was doing this so often that the Seeker was now watching him, instead of the pitch.

They were at one-hundred and ten to sixty when Scorpius next spotted the Snitch by the commentator's booth. To his dismay, the Lily was trailing him and picked up speed as he did. He motioned towards Toby who tried to send a Bludger their way, but the two Seekers were so close that hitting one meant hitting the other. They both went into a steep dive. Scorpius could feel the water dripping down his nose. If Gryffindor managed to get the golden points and win the match now, he would have cost the team the game. Scorpius wasn't usually one to gamble, but this was a hell of a risk.

He swooped at the last minute, just as Lily did. She dived and in that moment, the ball vanished. Scorpius' fist was empty. He felt the blood run up to his face. Despite the rain, slowly soaking through his Charmed robes, Scorpius felt like he had swallowed a coal.

Lily flew away from him, her eyes darting wildly. Both hands clutched her broom. She hadn't caught it. Scorpius' heart skipped a beat. She hadn't caught it, but neither had he.

Then, he felt something twitching in the sleeve of his robe. He grabbed hold of it, wrestling the fluttering object out of the crook of his elbow. The Snitch had accidently gone up his robes. He grasped it in his hand and held it above his head. The Slythern's screams were drowned out in the rain.

It was over.

* * *

Getting the majority of Slytherin into the Gryffindor Tower was some sort of achievement. Roxanne had to change the portrait hole's password so the Slytherins wouldn't know Gryffindor's actual password—it was changed to Slytherin Rules upon Rose's request, which the Fat Lady was very opposed to. The eudemonic mood in the air was not one known to Gryffindor, who liked to dance and scream and revel upon victory. Instead, the Slytherins fell into the seats and chairs around the tower, sipping on drinks served by the losing team and replaying the match blow-by-blow to amuse themselves. The air of sophistication was almost sickening and Lorcan Scamander was lying on the floor, a towel over his wet head.

Isabella sat by the fire, carefully drying out her robes with her wand. Scorpius was busy being patted on the back by every Slytherin in the room, so she was quite alone. Still, she watched him, and watched him speak to André Zabini in a low voice after he congratulated the Captain. A moment later, André joined her. Isabella sniffed and shifted into the plush, red sofa. It had been a long time since they had really, properly spoken.

"I reckon Sterling is keen on you," Zabini said. He never began conversations with a greeting. He always jumped right to the meat of things. Isabella had missed this quirk of his.

"I don't think he is," she said stiffly.

"I have it from a good source," Zabini said, taking a drink from Roxanne Weasley and passing it to Isabella.

"You're both of age, right?" Roxanne said, hovering.

"Of course we are," Zabini replied.

She stared at them dubiously before moving on.

"Anyway, I reckon you should have a word with him," Zabini said, lifting his glass in Jonathan Sterling's direction.

"He's two years older than me," Isabella said.

"Is age really an issue? I remember you going on and on about Viktor Krum at the last Quidditch match we went to and he's bloody ancient by comparison."

Isabella tugged her fingers through her hair, about to respond, but she snapped her mouth shut again. She shrugged before turning to observe the mingling houses. "Why are you telling me that Sterling is keen on me?"

Zabini rolled his lovely, amber eyes. "Because I'm bored of you ignoring me," he said, as blunt as a butter knife. Isabella winced. "You're boring, Isabella. Holding grudges and being lovesick is _boring_. Please, go shag someone else and get on with it so we can be mates again."

The heat flushed to her face and Isabella found herself taking down a very large gulp of drink. It tasted like brandy, which fit her sentiments. She gasped on it. "I wasn't planning on shagging anyone," she said huskily, still choking on the alcohol.

"Whatever. Go and hold his hands and exchange promise rings then," Zabini replied. "I don't care what you do with whichever bloke you want to do it with. But I am tired of this."

He gestured with his hand to indicate the two of them. Isabella looked at him. She could feel the tears welling in her eyes and was suddenly frightened she might cry in front of him. She hastily dabbed at her eyes with her wrist, her mascara running onto her olive skin.

Certain she was about to cry, Isabella gripped the glass of brandy and stood, pushing through the crowd to get to the portrait hole just as the Slytherins were calling for a speech. Malfoy was telling them to quiet down, looking to find a table to stand on, just as Isabella got outside. The portrait of the Fat Lady swung shut behind her with a huffy little " _Good riddance_."

But her opportunity to burst into tears was completely undercut, for crouching in the hallway—bloodshot eyes and drawing in staggered breaths—was James Potter. He was struggling to get his wet boots off, fumbling with the laces. Isabella stood there a moment, completely stunned. She hadn't ever seen a boy cry before, much less a boy like James.

"James," she said, loudly. But James did not respond. He continued to pull at his boots. He managed to get the right one off, then his wet sock. He started touching his ankle, checking the skin. He took a deep staggered breath and exhaled. Isabella kneeled down beside him. "What's the matter?"

He flinched; glancing at her with his bloodshot eyes and then glancing back at his bare foot. His toes were pruned up from the wet. He took the brandy glass from her hand and gulped it down, head knocked back, Adam's apple bobbing. When the sticky, honeyed liquid was gone, he handed it back to her. He stood, grabbing his boot and sock, and started back down the corridor. Just as he turned the corner, the portrait hole opened and Lily Potter poked her head out, still in her Quidditch robes.

"Have you seen my older brother?"

Isabella pointed in the direction he had just gone. Lily frowned, glancing back over her shoulder at the party. She sighed, and then she too climbed through the portrait hole, leaving Isabella alone in the hallway, too baffled to remember why she had left the party in the first place.

* * *

"I'm sorry about today," Scorpius said, climbing back off the table to join Albus. His feet crunched on the broken glass of Butterbeer bottles, the Slytherin ritual just having been performed. Lily Potter, still in her wet Quidditch robes, was using her wand to clean up the glass. Albus tweaked a smile and shrugged, grinding glass to dust under his feet as he passed his younger sister.

"None of us thought you'd play that well," he replied. "You lined up a great team. You all worked together like professionals."

Scorpius pressed his lips together to mask what would have been a manic laugh. The last twelve hours felt surreal. That they had not only won with 260 points, but had worked like a _team_. It seemed like an absurd twist of fate.

They both stepped around Lorcan Scamander, who had been forced to move from the floor when Scorpius' speech began, and was now being consoled by a group of fifth year girls who fawned over his wet robes and hair. Any sympathy Scorpius had for the Gryffindor Captain was depleting rapidly.

"Maxwell blew us all away," Albus added.

As he said her name, Meredith perked up from her position on the sofa. She was the only second year Slytherin in the room, and she bounded over to join them, quick as a firecracker. She puffed out her chest like a little rooster. "I was great today, wasn't I?"

"Brilliant," Albus grinned.

"I don't think you were able to stop even _one_ of my goals, Albus," Meredith said earnestly, grinning at him.

Albus winced. Scorpius chortled a little and gave Meredith a pat on the back. "We just need to sort out the business of a broom."

Here, Meredith hesitated slightly. She brushed some of her mousey hair behind her ear, wrinkling her nose. "I er…well, brooms are quite expensive."

"You're on my team Meredith," he said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "I'd be happy to get you a broom. Consider it a Christmas present."

Albus whistled, genuinely impressed. "Accept the offer, Maxwell."

She blinked at the two sixteen year old boys, dumbfounded. "R-really?"

"Honestly, Maxwell, I think I'm going to be training you to take over the team."

" _What_?" Meredith gasped, her eyes now glowing like lanterns.

"What do you think, Albus? We're looking at Slytherin's next team captain."

"I see it," Albus agreed, nodding slowly with his head tilted to the side. "I definitely see it."

"Oh, _Merlin_ , I have to tell Rose!" Meredith squeaked, turning on her heel.

Albus grinned, ear to ear. He shook his head in bemusement. His eyes probed the room. "Where is Rose?"

"Not sure," Scorpius frowned, also staring out at the crowd.

Albus squinted. "Probably off nicking a bottle of James' scotch or—"

He broke off, his eyes halting on a sofa across the room. Scorpius followed his gaze, brows furrowed, until he found André Zabini mercilessly snogging a twiggy blonde girl propped on a few cushions. It was not a sight he was unaccustomed to at after parties—or any occasion where Zabini _could_ find a reason to snog someone—but it was with a start that he realised it was Imogen Abercrombie pinned beneath him, pale hands around his dark neck. He glanced back at Albus, whose brow was pursed and whose green eyes were now somber.

Scorpius watched Albus carefully. "Zabini will snog anything with a pulse."

"Right," Albus answered. After a second, his eyes left Imogen and returned to Scorpius. "Well, it's none of my business really."

He said this with such firmness that Scorpius believed it. Secretly, he was relieved it was not Rose stuck to Zabini's lips this time. "I think I'll look for Rose," he said, suddenly quite determined to find her.

"Alright," Albus agreed absentmindedly. Scorpius heard him mutter to himself as he took off towards the drink table.

He found Rose underneath one of the Gryffindor tables, a bottle of scotch between her thighs. He crawled under the table and joined her. Her hair was still wet, but her clothes were now dry. She took another big gulp and smiled at him, her cheeks rosy and pink.

" _Very_ humble speech," she said, no doubt teasing him. She held up the bottle. "To the man who can assemble a winning team. Cheers!" Another gulp. A satisfied exhale. "Want some?"

"I'm underage," he said.

"By _four_ days."

"I don't drink," he added, taking the bottle from her. "And neither should you."

"Such a stick in the mud," she sighed, smelling like liquor. She combed her fingers through her knotty curls and gave him a sly, coy smile. "Y'know," she slurred. "You're handsome ina une-form."

"Did you get through half that bottle on your own?"

" _Realllly_ handsome," she added, tugging on the front of his robes. "You're growing more handsome by the hour. By the millimeter, I should say. S'pose that's because you're dating me."

"I suppose," he agreed. "How's your arm feeling?"

"On-fucking-fire," she replied, twitching her bad arm. "But the scoth'll help."

Scorpius plucked her fingers off the front of his robes and kissed them, before placing them in her lap. He ducked his head down to check no one had noticed their hiding spot. "C'mon," he sighed, taking her by the arm. "I think you should choof off to bed."

"Choof," she repeated, grinning from ear to ear. "Choof."

Scorpius took her hand and dragged her out from under the table. She thumped her head on the underside and swore loudly before emerging. Albus made his way towards them. "Already off?" he asked in a deadened voice, but didn't wait for an answer. "Where's the scotch bottle?"

"Unda there, my fine, dandelion friend," Rose said, gesturing over her shoulder. Rose was talking swiftly and sloppily, bumbling to get the words out in a stream of unfiltered thoughts. "D'you know what would cheer us all up?"

"No," Albus said, retrieving the bottle. Scorpius was straightening Rose's robes. She grabbed hold of his robes and started straightening them too.

"We should go to the—the—the Forbidden Forest. To see that _tree_ ," she said, grabbing Albus' arm. "Y'know the tree. I sometimes _dream_ about that tree. Let's put a tire swing on it like at home."

"I'm not sure the Centaurs would like that," Scorpius said. "You need a glass of water."

"Or a fountain," Albus said, gulping down some scotch.

"I need a really good—oh, _wow_ , is that Abercrombie snogging Sanbini?" Rose burst into giggles and clutched Albus's robes for support. "Zah-been-ee. Look at _that_. Merlin. Isabella can't be mad at _me_ anymore because he snogs everyone. I bet he's snogged _you_."

"He hasn't," Scorpius said, linking his arm through hers. "I'm taking her back to the common room."

"I'll help," Albus volunteered, looking like her wanted a reason to leave. Although he put his arm around Rose so the boys could carry her weight, he held onto the bottle with his free hand. They dragged her from the common room, ignoring her protests that she was sober enough to stay. In any case, she _could_ walk by herself. When the reached staircase to the ground floor, they released her. She clutched the bannister tightly as she went down the stairs, but by the time they had reached the bottom, she was leaning against the marble and holding her head.

"Rose," Albus said tentatively, taking her hand. He pulled it away from her face. "Are you alright?"

She squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm dizzy."

"Let's get her some air," Scorpius suggested, taking her arm and leading her towards the large double doors.

It was still drizzling when they arrived outside, the air cool enough to send a shiver up their spines. Rose sighed and turned her face up to the sky, letting the droplets slide down her cheeks. Albus warned her that she would get wet again, but Rose ignored him. She swayed, facing the sky, sticking out her tongue to catch the water. The dizziness was getting to her now that she was standing still. She needed to keep moving. Opening her eyes once more, she lurched forward down the slope towards Hagrid's hut.

The boys jogged to catch up with her, Scorpius alarmed and Albus exasperated. Rose continued towards the tree line, where the Forbidden Forest swayed.

"Hold on, Rose!" Scorpius insisted as he caught up with her.

"Let's go visit that tree."

"You're in no state to go wandering in the forest."

"I'm in every state to. Don't tell me how to live my life, Malfoy," she replied, pushing past him, only to find Albus on her other side.

"You'll be in terrible trouble if you get caught _drunk_ in an out-of-bounds part of the school," Albus said, taking a more reasonable line.

Rose shook him off too. Her head was spinning like a top, her chest felt tight. She knew if she reached the tree with their ladder and a trunk carved like a book, she would be able to set her head straight. A part of her knew she needed to go back there, to the place where she was above the forest, to the place where prophecy hummed in the air. Just as she reached the clearing, she leaned over and vomited rather violently into the grass. The boys skidded to a halt behind her.

"Charming," Scorpius drawled.

"One of her finer moments," Albus agreed.

* * *

Rose returned to the common room on Scorpius' back. He struggled to carry her—this she knew, because he really huffed under her heavy muscle and dead weight—but she liked to hear his hard breath and the jerk of her body as he repositioned her on his back. She clenched her thighs around him as they arrived at the common room passage.

"You'll be arlight?" Albus confirmed. He was still holding the offending bottle of scotch. Rose wondered vaguely whether he had plans to finish it or whether he would be disposing of it down a toilet bowl.

"I'll be fine. I'll whip up a potion to get rid of the hangover she'll no doubt experience tomorrow," Scorpius replied, jerking Rose further up his back.

"Good game today, mate. I'll see you later."

"See you, Albus."

The green lanterns burned low and the lake sloshed against the glass windows. They could hear the rain hitting the water. Scorpius slid Rose onto the sofa, where she sprawled, half dazed. She smiled at him tentatively and looped her arms around his neck, forcing him into an awkward stoop.

"I reckon we were bloody brilliant today. You are a good Captain. You chose a good team."

She hung off the front of his robes, all her weight on him. He looped his arms around her waist so she could sit up.

"You're amusing," he said, smiling a little.

"I'm going to kiss you now," she said, grinning, inching towards him. "In the middle of the common room. Where _anyone_ could walk in."

"Er, no you're not. Especially not after you vomited."

"But I'm irresistible," she crooned.

"Eugh," Scorpius said, craning his neck away as Rose planted her lips against his chin. He began to laugh. Having achieved this, Rose slid away from him, her smile coy. "Well done today, Captain."

"Nice shot at Corner, by the way."

"Whatever do you mean? That was an _accident_ ," she said, relaxing sleepily into the sofa. "It was all an accident."

* * *

Some time later, and Rose would not attempt to guess the amount of time that had slipped by, Rose was stirred from sleep as another Slytherin entered the common room. It was now late in the afternoon. Rose sat up on the sofa, stretching a little, craning her neck to catch the eye of the girl who had just entered.

It was Alice. Her Quidditch robes were bundled over her arm, so only her slacks and sweater remained beneath. Her slick black hair was tied into a small bun, no larger than a cork. As their eyes met, a stifling awkwardness filled the room. An awkwardness Rose was immune to.

"I need a word with you," Rose said, trying her hardest to sound as if she hadn't been napping for several hours.

"I'm tired. I'm going to shower and change for dinner," Alice said curtly.

Rose sat up, her mouth tasting dry and acidic. It was as if the bile was caught in her throat, but it wasn't bile. Whatever was trapped there was sharper and heavier, impossible to swallow. She tried to dislodge it by speaking.

"I've had a lot of time to think since we did that stupid little treasure hunt in the common room—"

"That was three days ago, Rose," Alice sighed.

"—and I have come to realise," she persisted loudly, "that I've treated you really poorly."

Neither of them said anything. Alice hesitated, before turning her body to face the sofa. The fire behind her lit up her willowy frame. She looked angelic.

"I also just want to say I'm sorry I was so careless with our friendship. I know I mucked that one up big time. I didn't mean to leave you on the wayside."

In wake of this more serious apology, there was only more silence. The only noise was the pattering of the rain on the lake, far above them.

"I can't forgive you," Alice said quietly. Her sharp, angled eyes narrowed. "You ditched me. You prioritised over me. I was loyal to you for _years_ , and you forgot about me in minutes. I'm done, now. I cut myself loose. And I'm not going to accept your apology just because you caught up with the reasons why I was mad."

Alice turned, bundling her slick emerald Quidditch robes in her arms as she headed for the dormitory door. Rose perched on the edge of the sofa, her head throbbing.

"I get why you're angry. It's justified. But we were friends since first year, Alice. Sure, you can act like that never happened. But I can't _forget_ all those years. I refuse to. And I'm not mad, because your anger is justified. So, I'm going to wait here for you to accept my apology."

Alice twitched towards her but didn't turn around. Rose continued in the same, even, raspy voice. "I'm going to wait. I'm going to stay sorry. Because we're _mates_ , Alice. Proper mates. Which means when you finally decide to look back, I'll be here."

Alice hesitated by the door, her hand on the knob. Rose watched her thin fingers. Her skin looked waxy yellow in the green lantern light. They both held their breath while the rain pattered. Alice rolled her shoulders and opened the door.

Rose was okay with it.

She had meant what she said. She would be there when Alice looked back.

* * *

Scorpius emerged from his bedroom on the day of his birthday clutching a sore arm from the series of birthday punches Zabini had given him. Rose stood in the hallway, leaning against a wall, one leg crossed over the other as she waited. He blinked at her in surprise.

"Happy birthday," she said, grinning broadly. "You're officially legal."

" _Rose."_

"To Apparate, of course. Get your mind out of the gutter."

She took him by the hand and led him towards the boy's communal bathrooms. When she entered, a fifth year boy, hair still wet from the showers, was shaving. He caught their reflection in the mirror.

"Out," Rose said firmly, crossing her arms. "We need to inspect these bathrooms for illicit substances."

"You shouldn't even be here!" The boy cried, securing the towel around his waist.

"I am a prefect. I can be wherever I want. Now _out_."

Grumbling, the boy grabbed his razor and slunk out of the bathroom. As he gave Scorpius an irate look, the prefect raised his hands in bewilderment. Rose was already crossing to the trough opposite, parting her lips to produce a mangled attempt at Parseltongue. After a couple of tries, the trough moved aside. "In," she said, gesturing to the tunnel's ladder.

Scorpius descended, too intrigued to protest. When he reached the bottom, Rose jumped down after him, landing as agile as a cat on the stone floor, emitting an echoing clap from the soles of her boots. She lit her wand and pointed it at a cardboard box. "Happy birthday, Mister Malfoy. Have I got a treat for _you_."

"You needn't have gotten me anything," he said, cautiously approaching the box and half expecting something to jump out of it.

"Nonsense. I found myself asking, what do you get the boy who already _has_ everything? A book about fungi? A gold watch? All so _mundane,"_ Rose said, flapping a hand to dismiss these suggestions. "You deserve more."

She flipped open the flaps of the cardboard box and embellished the gesture with a twirl of her wrist. Scorpius leaned down, squinting. Inside the box were several cling-wrap bags and jars filled with what _could_ have been illicit substances. Upon further inspection, he realised they were seeds and plants, as well as a small pot filled with soil.

"You've got some _Galanthus Nivalis_ in that first jar. Some crushed doxy eggs in that packet. Some _Deadlyius_ because I know you love your mushrooms. And last but not least, some wolfsbane."

Scorpius stared at the arrangement, his head feeling light. Rose was still bent over the box, wand pointed at the arrangement of seedlings and flowers and potion ingredients.

"Oh, and a pot with some Screechsnap seedlings in there because I thought a plant that screeches with pain and pleasure would remind you of me."

She stood straight now, smiling at him primly.

"How'd you get all this," he asked, blinking away his surprise. "How'd you get the wolfsbane?"

"Oh, why do you think I've been conspiring with Professor Longbottom for?" she grinned, tucking a curl behind her ear. "I really had to wrangle him for these. It took all of my persuasive skills. I think I might've stolen the doxy eggs though—"

Scorpius leaned in and kissed her very hard on the lips, successfully ending Rose's explanation.

"It's time to be quiet, my little Screechsnap."

Rose smirked, her nose still level with his. "Screechsnaps scream with pain _and_ pleasure, remember?" she said, before leaning in to kiss him again.

* * *

Teddy stood beside Victoire, his hand in hers. He not only had Harry to answer to. Victoire's parents were both there, in similar states of incomprehension. Teddy's knee bounced a little. His palms were sweaty.

"You said you had an announcement," Harry said slowly. His eyes darted between their hands. "Please don't tell me you're running away together."

"Or have some sort of suicide mission pact," Bill added.

"We're going to get married," Teddy said, surprised that his voice didn't shake at all. As he said it, it suddenly felt real. Neither he nor his fiancée could stop themselves from grinning. The adults that faced them only stared back in surprise.

"When did you get back together?" Bill blinked.

"Did we ever really break up?" Victoire said, shrugging a little. Teddy snorted.

" _Formidable_!" Fleur cried, launching forward to kiss both of Teddy's cheeks, and then her daughter's. "Theese iz _fantastique_!"

Suddenly, everyone was laughing, a sound that felt strange in the Headquarters' dreary kitchen, a sound that felt impossible after months of hiding and being hunted, after missions gone wrong and improvised funerals. Bill was shaking Teddy's hand, even as he was apologising for not having discussed it with him first. But no one really seemed to care. Everyone was far too excited.

"Congratulations," Harry said, clapping Teddy on the back. "Or should I say _finally_. We were all placing bets on when you two were going to tie the knot. George had started a pool."

"You people are _mental_ ," Teddy chortled.

"It will be good," Bill agreed, "to celebrate a marriage at the end of this war."

Both his daughter and his future son-in-law froze at this. They sent each other side-long, shifty looks. Bill's scar-ridden face dropped into a scowl. "What?"

"We weren't planning to wait until after the war, Dad," Victoire said.

"We're getting married next month," Teddy supplied, gripping Victoire's hand a little tighter.

The expression on Bill's face did not require words.

"Next _month_?" Harry repeated. "You do realise that will be impossible in this situation."

"Nothing's impossible," Teddy swore, holding up his and Victoire's hands as if this proved his claim.

Bill shook his head, leaning against the kitchen table. "Can't you wait a few—"

"Years?" Victoire finished. "Dad, we'll be waiting for ever. We're fighting terrorist groups. We're running from a corrupt government. We're learning guerrilla warfare, for Merlin's sake. Do you really think we'll be getting hitched in peacetime?"

"You can _wait_ ," Bill said firmly.

"No, zey cannot," Fleur counted, placing her hands on her slim hips. "Don't yoo see zey are in lurve? Zey want to be together. Zey want to be 'usband and wife."

"They can _wait_ ," Bill repeated, crossing his arms. "And it'll probably do them some good. Victoire was running off to a different continent a few months ago."

"That's why I'm so sure of this, Daddy," Victoire pleaded. Teddy winced at the endearment to her father, especially in the sing-song voice she used as a girl. "Teddy and I are our best selves when we're doing life as a team."

"Harry talk some sense into them," Bill snapped.

"No, 'Arry, yoo should not. Lurve does not make sense," Fleur said, crossing to her husband and taking hold of his shoulder. "Do yoo forget zat _we_ were married in the middle of a war?"

"And look how great that turned out," Bill muttered.

"It turned out fine!" Fleur sniffed. "Here we are, twenty-five years later, and we are still married."

"We'll keep the wedding small," Teddy placated. "Family only."

"We want to start the New Year married," Victoire added.

Bill opened his mouth to protest—that they were rushing into things, that war and violence often made love run hot and hurried. But he knew that this was a lie. Victoire and Teddy were not rushing into this. They had been moving in this direction for a very long time, at an unstoppable pace and with an unstoppable rhythm. They had shared all their major milestones—baby teeth lost, buying school robes and books, seventeenth birthday parties and graduations. And they had finally arrived at this next milestone, the one that would consolidate the parallel tracks of their lives.

"I'm mental to assent to this," he grumbled, looking at his daughter and her fiancée. "But I suppose a little love wouldn't hurt in the midst of all this chaos."

"Now you're talking, Daddy," Teddy grinned, slapping Bill on his arm.

Bill flinched away, sending the blue-haired youth his most crippling look. "This better not be a joke."

"When have you ever known me to joke," he replied, utterly serious.

* * *

 **A/N: I dedicate this chapter to Nicole, who finally read this fanfic after me begging her to for ages, and who also edited half of this chapter even though she's gallivanting through Denmark. Come home, I miss you.**

 **I hope you can forgive me for the delay. Chapter 10 is almost done and will be up soon after :) Review review review.**


	10. Chapter Ten

**—** **Chapter Ten—**

James was nervous around goblins. He felt that this was justified. His skin crawled right off whenever he saw them in their steel capped boots and chain mail shirts, clinking and shinning like armored stars. Which was often, nowadays. They were crawling through the streets of Hogsmeade. Many were living in the surrounding cottages, looking as pale and grey as grubs exposed from under rocks. They made him nervous. He felt that was justified. So, he always snuck straight to the Three Broomsticks, were the goblins were still banned, because there he felt safe.

The room was empty. He was the only patron. Rosemerta was somewhere below, clanking in the storage cellar. He sat by the bar, feeling faint with fatigue. He needed something hot in his belly, something to slosh away the blunt edges of his mind. He had already finished a glass of whiskey and needed another (and several glasses after that).

Claretta joined him at the bar, drumming her knuckles on the counter. As always, he couldn't help but notice the plumpness of her cheeks, the fullness of her hips, the loose ringlets that fell in front of her green eyes. But he didn't note these details it in the awestruck way he once did.

A wireless had been set up in the far corner of the room, and the volume was down low. Still, he could hear the rise and fall of the newscaster.

" _The prices of brooms and cauldrons continue to rise following the third week of mine strikes. The Ministry is working with the goblin King to resolve this matter. Citizens have been asked not to order brooms or cauldrons by mail, as deliveries have been intercepted…_ "

"Why aren't yeh up at school, in class?" Claretta asked in her husky voice, drowning out the radio.

"Claretta," he said, tiredly. He wasn't going to try for charm and wit and his usual performance of tomfoolery. He was so jaded he could barely keep his head up. "I just need to drink, no questions asked."

He wasn't there for her. That much was true. He was there for the drink. She had kissed him and it had meant nothing to her and now he was just there for the drink.

See, James was under the impression that he had lost hope. He would, too, but not quite yet.

"If you don't give me a drink you'll force me to go down to the Hog's Head and I don't want to do that," he added.

"Alright, alright. I won't ask anymore. But yeh shouldn't be down here drinkin', is all I'm sayin'." she muttered quietly, like an older cousin berating him. She turned around to retrieve a whiskey bottle, filling up the empty glass.

" _And now for the Werewolf Welfare Agency_. _This is a notice that all werewolves registered must report to the Ministry of Magic on the date they are summoned…_ "

Again, he noted the roll of flesh around her hips, the heaviness of her breasts. He wondered absently what they felt like. He had only ever kissed a few girls, and those kisses had only ever been inspired by curiosity. He was self-conscious of his lack of real experience. Lorcan was the experienced one, and he had boasted of the many girl's breasts he had fondled—apparently it took some skill to do it right, something that was beyond James altogether. That was always Lorcan's thing though, not James'. For all his faults, James was not a lady's man.

"What class are yeh missin' right now?" she asked.

"Defense."

"That's an important class ter miss, ain't it?"

James shook his head. "Nah. It's fucking useless."

"What do yer mean?"

James slumped forward on the counter.

"I mean, they teach you how to point your wand and cast a spell, but how will that defend you when it comes to the crunch? When you're really there, in the moment, distracted and in danger, you won't be firing a hex at a motionless target." He took down the shot of whiskey and slid the glass back towards her, and she swore it would be his last as she refilled it. "Fuck me. It's just useless," he finished, drinking that shot too.

"I need ter git another job."

"What?" James asked quickly. Maybe he was there just a little for her.

"I only started waitressin' because I thought ter myself, _everyone_ drinks. It's a safe job. I'll always earn money. But I'm working in the only bloody bar that no one comes ter anymore."

She slid his full glass to him and he withdrew his gold—and a tip. She shook her head, sliding the extra coins back to him.

"Until they lift the ban on goblins, no one will come ter this place. People fink we're discriminatin'," she lowered her voice now, so low it was almost a whisper. "And I reckon we are, too. Don't tell Rosie I fink that though."

"She'll never lift the ban," James said, as confident about it as he was comforted by it. Not after the history of this place. Not after the poisoning.

"She'll have ter. We've received two Ministry letters sayin' they'll prosecute us unless we do." Claretta wrinkled her button nose. "And I'll be glad fer it. I need gold. I don't care whose payin' me. I have debts ter pay."

James frowned. "Collectors coming around?"

"Yep. And they'll be askin' fer an arm and a leg soon."

Abruptly, James could see Rodkin without his legs, as James dragged his cleanly halved body from the water. He took down the shot of whiskey and placed the glass back on the counter. Claretta refilled it, warning him it would be his last. He hardly heard her. She had given that warning too many times, but each time accepted the gold.

"How long have the Elite Squad been in Hogsmeade?" he asked.

"Ever since you lot went back ter Hogwarts," she shrugged. "Fer extra security, I reckon."

From what, James wondered. A bunch of school kids on Hogsmeade visits? He fished out the gold from his pocket as she slid him the refilled glass. He took down the last shot, letting the alcohol burn his chest like coal. He wanted to buy a whole bottle to smuggle into the school but she wouldn't let him.

"Keep the tip," he insisted as Claretta began to protest. "Split it between you and Rosie."

James ducked under the bar and headed towards the kitchen, where the back entrance was located. He cast a Disillusionment Charm before leaving. As long as he didn't get too close to any goblins, he wouldn't be noticed. He slipped into the chilly November air, the fiery buzz in his body already fading. He should have insisted on buying the whiskey. He would need it.

He made his way to the end of the lane, where an old disused cottage could be found. He snuck around to the back of the fence and used his wand to move aside a large stone, revealing the tunnel entrance beneath it. It was a steep drop down to get to the tunnel. A moment later, he had slipped over the lip of it, dropping to the ground, using his wand to lay the stone back over the tunnel. Then, he moved on.

* * *

It was lunch hour, but Lily wasn't at lunch. She sat on a passage on the fourth floor, knees pulled up to her chin and stomach growling. She waited, watching the mirror opposite her. Her perfect reflection was bounced back at her—the pale, freckled face, the serious brown eyes, the red bangs neatly cut to conceal her crumpled brow. She started at the mirror a while, growing more and more anxious, until it slowly began to creak forward and her older brother reappeared. Lily leapt to her feet.

"James," she said, furious. He had used a Disillusionment Charm, but she could see the mirror's glass ripple around his body, like a giant human chameleon. The mirror closed again with a snap.

"James, I know it's you. What on earth do you think you're doing?"

James took the Disillusionment Charm off him, so he rippled into existence once more. He glared at his sister, slightly forlorn, his eyes watery and bloodshot. He had been drinking, for sure.

"Are you stalking me?"

Lily ignored him, grabbing a fistful of his robes, and preceded to drag him towards the many moving staircases that led to Gryffindor Tower. Despite their many years in difference, she possessed enough strength to have him trail her up to the common room. When he arrived, he was met with visible dismay, for Lily had assembled her brother and Lorcan to greet them. He glanced at his watch and realised it was lunch break; they were all out of class. He should have timed this better.

"He's been sneaking out of the school," Lily said, pushing him towards the boys. "I just caught him coming out of a secret passage."

"That's impossible," Albus replied, looking at Lily and not James, having the conversation around him. "All the passages in the school were sealed at the start of term."

"Talk to _him_ when you're talking to him," Lily snapped, pushing James towards Albus.

"Are you staging a bloody _intervention_?" James huffed, untangling his robes.

His little sister turned on him, her hands balled into fists. She bristled like a sandstorm tempest, blowing up hot air as she spoke. "You're always taking these stupid risks and getting us _all_ into trouble! Hogsmeade is crawling with goblins. What if you get caught?"

"I'm not _technically_ doing anything wrong," James exclaimed, throwing his arms up.

Albus grabbed a hold of Lily's shoulder to placate her, performing the role of the diplomat as he always did in their three-way arguments. Lorcan moved forward to take her place, approaching James with the opposite tone—plaintively dipped neck, like a swan in mourning. He and James looked like complete opposites. James was tall and dark and wiry, and Lorcan was fair and blonde and stocky. Despite this, when the two boys were together, one would easily mistake them as brothers—even twins. They had a knack for finishing each other's sentences and reading each other's expressions. Lorcan knew better than James' actual siblings what the matter was.

"You're getting worse, mate," he said quietly. "You need help."

"I'm finding ways to deal with it," James said through clenched teeth. "I just need you lot to—back—off."

"We're you're family," Albus said pleadingly, still keeping Lily put. "We can't back off."

"Oh, sod off Albus! At the start of the holidays you were refusing to even leave your bedroom and that's just because Dad had to leave the house. You don't get the moral high ground in this scenario."

"Mate," Lorcan tried again, lowering his voice. "We're not here to corner you. We just want to help."

"You know how you can _help_?" James said trembling at the words. "Let me find ways to stay busy. My Graduation Prank is _over_ , the first Quidditch match is _over_ —I'm just looking for distractions, all right? I just need some more distractions."

* * *

Albus bunched his hands into fists, pulling at his unruly black hair. Tentatively, Scorpius placed a hand on his shoulder. Rose continued to stir their cauldron, glancing nervously towards the front of the classroom as Professor Bellucci continued her verbal instructions. Today, they weren't allowed to open their textbooks—half the class was beginning to wonder what the point of buying them was—and instead, were only allowed to heed Bellucci's verbal method.

"I dunno what to do with him. He needs to speak to someone but he's been so stubborn. I told him to go and talk to Hannah but…"

"But Hannah is basically an aunt to him and James isn't going to open up to family," Rose finished, carefully moving her hands counterclockwise, then clockwise.

Albus placed a hand over his mouth, resting his elbow against the desk. He shrugged, as if letting the world roll off his shoulders in a supreme effort of giving up.

"Don't overexcite the Shrake spine," Scorpius said, grabbing Rose's wrist so she would slow down her stirring. "Where exactly was James this morning?"

"Drinking at the Three Broomsticks. Probably flirting with that barmaid. That's what he'd count as a distraction," Albus muttered cynically.

"How'd he get down to Hogsmeade," Rose asked sharply. "All the passages were sealed."

"That's what I thought, too," Albus shrugged. "I asked Lorcan about it after James stormed off. He and James found a caved-in passage on the fourth floor in first year. It took them the entire year to restore the tunnel, but they did it. The teachers don't know about it."

Scorpius and Rose shared a look that was so panicked that Albus looked up, taken out of his reverie. His eyebrows slowly drew together. "What are you two thinking?"

"You're telling us," Rose said carefully, passing the ladle to Scorpius, "that there is a functioning passage from the school to Hogsmeade that any goblin could use if he found it?"

"Well," Albus shrugged, glancing between them both. "I suppose."

" _Merlin_ ," Scorpius muttered, adding the porcupine quills. "We need to go to Longbottom this afternoon. Immediately, in fact. Do you think James was followed?"

"I don't think so—I dunno. Why? What's this about?"

Both Rose and Scorpius glanced at each other, coming to a silent agreement. The urgency between them seemed to sizzle like the cauldron. They checked that their neighbouring tables were too busy finishing their potions to eavesdrop. Just to be safe, Rose cast a surreptitious Muffliato Charm. In low voices, they filled Albus in about the significance of the two-way Vanishing Cabinets and what it might mean. At first, Albus was offended that he had been left out of the loop on this. Then, a more serious quandary arrested his attention.

"Why would goblins try to get into the Castle?" Albus frowned, shaking his head. "Maybe they were asking because they want to get into other places and they thought they could use Vanishing Cabinets."

"Either way, we _have_ to report this," Rose said, crossing her arms tightly. "Right after class. And we have to report it to Professor Longbottom."

"Alright, doves," Professor Bellucci tittered. "Time to hand in those Boil Cure Potions."

* * *

It was to their absolute dismay that the trio arrived at the teacher's staffroom to find that the deputy headmaster was nowhere to be seen. No one could account for Professor Longbottom, and when they asked, the teachers merely told them, "He had to leave the school."

" _Leave_?" Rose demanded, staring at Professor Tate with some betrayal. "Why would he leave?"

"He had some business to attend to. I'm sure your Herbology homework can wait until tomorrow."

The three students were really feeling panicky now. Other than Hagrid, they weren't sure if any other staff members were in the Order, and Hagrid would never be taken seriously if he questioned the security of the school based on the advice of three meddlesome sixth years. On route to the library (which is where Scorpius always insisted on going whenever a solution eluded him) Albus found their answer. He grabbed the back of their cloaks, almost giving the two Slytherins whiplash, before hauling them down the opposite corridor.

"Hannah," he said, clicking his fingers. "Hannah could give him the message when he gets back."

With that, they took off sprinting for the Hospital Wing, where they found the school's Matron brewing a potion with her hair tied back in a bun. Beside her, to their absolute dread, was Professor Bellucci.

Both women looked up upon their arrival. Hannah's sandy, blonde hair was messily pulled back, and her plain face was screwed up in annoyance. She wore the school's Healer uniform—dumpy white robes over a lime, green tunic. Stella fluttered around her, like a bird, her chestnut brown waves roped into a ponytail, her silky emerald robes falling down to her tanned calves. The younger woman smiled, delighted, at the three students, whereas Hannah merely frowned.

"What's the matter?"

"What's that you're brewing?" Scorpius asked, unable to help himself.

"The Draught of Peace," Hannah said through her teeth. "A potion I am well equipped to brew on my _own_."

"Oh, your husband just wanted me to bring up the ingredients for you," Stella sung, looping her hair over her shoulder. "And then, well… _you_ three know what I'm like once a cauldron needs stoking. I just positively had to stay put. I couldn't help myself!"

"You certainly couldn't," Hannah muttered.

"If you needed help, Hannah, you could always ask these three. They're marvelous at Potions," Stella said, clacking across the room so she was closer to them.

"Er," Rose said, scratching her ear. "I mostly just copy these two."

"I don't think I need the assistance of _students_ to brew an O.W.L. level potion, Stella," Hannah said cuttingly. She turned to the apparent potion experts in question. "What did you three need?"

They all looked at each other. There was no way Rose would say what they knew in front of Bellucci. She didn't trust her as far as she could have thrown her. "Albus has these boils," Rose said, staring at Hannah. "Really awful boils."

She nudged Albus in the ribs. Albus sent her a crippling look before sighing and turning to the school's Matron. "Really painful," he relented. "And they're in a very sensitive spot."

"We think he burst one," Scorpius added for good measure. "There was a lot of puss-like discharge."

" _Okay_ ," Albus said loudly. "I think she gets the picture."

"Well, it's wonderful that we brewed that Boil Cure Potion today," Stella sung, unaffected by the description of Albus' imaginary boils. "I'll hop right down to my office and get it."

"Cheers," Abus said dryly. They all watched her sway from the room, boots clacking, until the doors closed behind her.

Hannah remained behind the cauldron, still stirring the contents with her wand. She raised her eyebrows at the trio. "I would thank you for getting rid of her, but I know you didn't do it for my benefit," she said wryly. "What's actually the matter with you three?"

"We needed a member of the Order," Rose said, casting her second Muffliato Charm in a single day. As she said and did this, Hannah's face grew serious. She glanced pointedly at Scorpius, who sighed heavily. Rose shook her head. "He knows and he's with us."

"He's trustworthy," Albus added.

"Clearly, if you allow him to see the discharge of your boils," Hannah said through thin lips, her tone still somber. She lowered the temperature of the flames under the cauldron and joined them by one of the beds. "What's happened?"

They filled her in on everything—spying on the goblins at Borgin and Burkes, the questions about the Vanishing Cabinets (which only horrified her, not surprised her, which made them suspect she already knew of their previous use) and the secret passageway James had been using to get down to Hogsmeade. By the time they had finished, Hannah's face had turned grey.

"Merlin," she whispered, dragging her hands over her face. "I warned you on that day to stay out of it. You lot have no concept of danger. Spying on _goblins_? Sneaking down to Hogsmeade? Do any of you have any sense of self-preservation? And to think, you two are Slytherins," she muttered, glaring at Rose and Scorpius. "If something had gone wrong—"

"We may have just given you the knowledge to prevent something from going wrong," Scorpius replied, sounding almost bored. "So, there's no point lecturing us."

Hannah glared at them, her hands deep in the pockets of her white robes. It was difficult to imagine her young, at their age. What had she been like as a teenager? A rule-abiding Hufflepuff? A rebellious Dumbeldore's Army soldier? They didn't break her gaze, and exasperated, she threw her hands up. Relieved, they moved closer to her.

"We'll have to search the whole school. It's protocol," Hannah relented, chewing on her thumb. "After we block off the passage, of course. On all the nights that the Order needed Neville, they take him tonight."

She looked up at them, her hazel eyes moving between their young faces. The cauldron continued to bubble behind her.

"I'll speak to Drummond and we'll sort out a plan. Go to your common room and don't say a word. We'll be running this like a lockdown drill."

* * *

"That boil thing was grand," Scorpius said as they settled onto the sofa, his arm around Rose's shoulders. It was late by most people's standards—around midnight—but this was the hour most Slytherins had settled into bed, wands under pillows and eyes half open in case a seventh year dropped in for a raid. Rose and Scorpius were sitting on the sofa in the Slytherin dungeon, their homework scattered on the floor at their feet, waiting for the Drill to start. They were told that as soon as Professor Longbottom returned, they would run it.

They weren't instructed to wait up, but they did naturally. Neither would be able to sleep otherwise.

"I take pride in humiliating Albus," Rose finally replied, shifting her legs underneath her so she could get more comfortable. It was rare to have the sofa by the fire, or to have the common room so empty. She rested her head against his arm and said something that had been bothering her for a week or so. "Say, where did you two get off to last Sunday? And on last Friday?"

"No where," Scorpius shrugged.

"I looked for you all over and Hugo said you both went out for a _walk_ ," Rose replied, trying to get comfortable against his bony shoulder.

"We just went for a walk, chatted about Quidditch or whatever it was."

"You _hate_ chatting," Rose scowled.

"Are you jealous that I'm spending time with your cousin without you?" Scorpius teased.

"Don't be daft, of course not," Rose huffed. "Although I do find it slightly insulting you didn't bring me along to chat and walk and do whatever it is you were doing."

They let the banter drop, both too tired to keep it up. Scorpius tucked his legs up under him. Rose finally got comfortable, abandoning her boyfriend's arm, and leaning instead against the back of the sofa. In the bigger picture, things were messy. But this detail right now was perfect. Like a lovely little border embellishment on an otherwise hideous tapestry.

They drifted back into a comfortable silence as they stared at the fireplace, burning and crackling and popping in the grate. The smell of the smoke was making Rose sleepy and she felt her head drop onto his shoulder again.

"You're going to be a magnificent Auror one day," he said quietly, almost as if he didn't think she would hear. "I would trust my life in your hands completely."

The stone passageway opened and both Rose and Scorpius sat up, rubbing sleep from their eyes. Professor Bellucci approached them, her face very serious, wand aloft. She was not surprised to see them. She carried an air of important about her that suggested she had expected their vigil. "Slytherin is running a Drill tonight," she said upon seeing them. "Can you please have all the Slytherin prefects gather the students onto the seventh floor?"

They both stood and did exactly as they were instructed, so that within ten minutes, the six pairs of Slytherin prefects were leading the entire house to the seventh floor classrooms. When they arrived, Professor Drummond was already there with a hurried looking Professor Longbottom.

"We'll be searching your dormitories first," the Headmaster said, his wrinkled brow creased. "And then each floor. We've set up beds in each classroom. If the prefects could divide themselves across the year groups, that would be best."

"What's going on?" Betty Fink asked, rubbing her eyes.

"It's just a Drill," Professor Longbottom said quietly. "Slytherins in the class rooms along the right."

The Hufflepuffs were also progressing up the hall, sleepy and confused. Professor Drummond moved towards them to repeat the same set of instructions, but Rose didn't stick around to listen. They were already splitting up, directing their own students into bedrooms. As Betty Fink was starting to cause a stir, Rose volunteered to take the first and second years, and Scorpius followed her into the first classroom.

Single mattresses were set up in rows along the floor. It reminded Rose of a prison.

"Is this because of the serial killer?" Meredith said, bounding towards Rose and Scorpius like a mule.

"There _is_ no serial killer, Meredith," Rose snapped. All the students were looking their way in order to get an explanation, panicky and nervous like spooked horses. "Everyone, into your beds please! This is just a routine drill. Scorpius and I will be keeping watch. You can all go back to sleep."

The first and second years wound their way to their mattresses, pulling the sheets over their little bodies. They whispered in the semi-darkness, voices high and squeaky like mice. Rose dragged her mattress closer to Scorpius and perched on the side of it so they could conspire.

"They've only evacuated us and Hufflepuff," she said quietly.

"We're the only common rooms below ground," he replied.

"They think the goblins will try to tunnel their way into the school."

Which made perfect sense, now that Rose thought about it. It's what goblins were most comfortable with. They thrived underground.

"I'm guessing they've already sealed the fourth floor passageway," Rose whispered. "They're running the Drill for protocol."

"Really, though," Scorpius said quietly. "The government has no reason to have goblins in Hogwarts."

"I don't think the Elite Squad care that much about what the government want them to do anymore," Rose replied. The students were sill whispering in paranoid voices. Rose clicked her fingers at them. "Go to bed, please!"

Finally, they got their silence. By one in the morning, all the first and second years were fast asleep again. Rose crawled onto Scorpius' mattress, so she was on the opposite end, her shoulders resting against his bent legs. He took hold of her foot, gripping her mismatched sock. One was blue and the other was grey.

Rose studied him in the semi-darkness as he clutched her foot, frowning at a frayed thread in the blue pattern. She wasn't able to put a word to the feeling in her chest, something that made it as tight as it was heavy. It was as if her heart was trying to tear itself out of her ribs so it could join his. She rubbed her sternum absent-mindedly, still staring at him. Scorpius glanced up at her.

"What?"

"Oh, it's nothing," she replied offhandedly, although three other words were caught under her tongue, pressed against her cheek. She cast the third Muffliato Charm of the day, tucking her wand behind her ear.

A small creased appeared between his eyes. "Tell me what's on your mind."

Rose leaned forward to smooth the creased above his eyebrows with her thumb. They were closer now, knees between knees, but she was keenly aware of the quietly breathing kids scattered across the room. "I was just thinking, you should come stay with us for Christmas."

Scorpius sighed impatiently and turned away. Rose grabbed his sharp chin and jerked him back in her direction. "Albus thinks you're trustworthy."

"I am," Scorpius said. "I value loyalty."

"We'll both want you there."

Scorpius picked some lint of his striped pyjama bottoms. The moonlight spilling through the arched windows made his hair look like silver. As cold and distant and glittering as starlight. Rose ran her fingers through his hair and he leaned into the palm of her hand.

"Your parents," he said quietly, eyes closed, "will not be pleased to have me there. I will be ruining Christmas."

"You're our friend, not the Grinch."

He nodded, leaning in to rest his chin on top of her curls.

"Alright. If it makes you happy."

It did. Rose smiled into his neck and sighed as he wrapped an arm around her. It didn't matter how they were together, whether they were acting like friends, pretending to be enemies or simply lovers—as long as they were close, she was glad. She leaned back and settled onto the opposite end of the mattress.

"What happens if the people we love get killed," Rose asked, frowning at his matching socks. "I've never had anyone close to me die."

"Me neither," Scorpius said. "And I imagine it will be really difficult to deal with. But I know one thing."

Rose waited, surprised he would give her this little moment of suspense. She was usually the one waiting for his pauses. "What?" she prompted, tilting her head to look at him.

"We won't have to deal with it alone."

The room smelt like chalk dust and the humid fog of breath, as the first and second years slept like little rabbits, panting and snoring and sighing. It was funny to be asleep in a classroom, the Transfiguration diagrams on the walls showing a rabbit turning into a pair of slippers. "What are you thinking about," Rose asked as she stared at the diagram.

Scorpius stared at Rose a moment. "I'm thinking about how lucky we are to be alive right _now_."

"Morbid."

"No," he replied, voice low, forgotten that the charm would keep their words to themselves. "More like magical. To think everything that's happened in this universe has brought the two of us to this very moment, right," he tapped the mattress, "here."

Rose stared at him awhile. She crawled over the mattress so she could join him, her head resting against his shoulder again. She thought of all the little moments linking together to form a staircase to the present; being sorted into the same house, Rose's careless neglect of their early friendship, being made Slytherin prefects, punching him in the mouth, filling in for Norton as Beater, dancing in a greenhouse, swapping dueling lessons for potion tutoring, falling out of a tree. All of these memories were rusty rungs in a ladder, leading to the next blind rung, the next new moment.

And it wasn't just all the choices and chances in their own lives, but everything that came before them. Where would they both be if their own parents had not been enemies but friends? Where would they both be if their own parents had never fallen in love, had never gotten married, have never had their children?

"You sound like a fatalist," she said quietly.

"No. I think it was all a coincidence," he replied, smiling a little. "A magical coincidence."

* * *

Intending to slip back into her own mattress, Rose had only dozed for a few minutes, but when Meredith woke them, several hours had gone by. Rose squinted uncomfortably into the lightening room. A soft tinge coloured the tiles. Everyone else was still asleep. Scorpius brushed his fingers through his silver-blond waves and squinted at Meredith. He yawned.

"What's happened?" Rose asked, pulling on her shoes. Meredith watched her and Scorpius as if she had confirmed her suspicions, but for once—mercilessly—said nothing. Instead, she pointed at the door. "The teachers are back."

"Right," Scorpius said, getting to his feet and stretching out his sore back. "I'll go have a word."

"Er, as will I," Rose replied, running her hands over her curls and following him.

But their eagerness wasn't necessary. Professor Longbottom poked his head into the room and motioned for them both to follow him. Casting a wary eye at the sleeping junior students, the two prefects accompanied their Professor into the corridor. The teachers were gathered outside, speaking in low voices. When the Slytherin students approached, they all stopped. Professor Drummond faced them, gormlessly tired.

"The school has been thoroughly searched and it does not appear that any person has ever attempted to infiltrate the grounds. We thank you also for drawing our attention to the passage way on the fourth floor, which has now been sealed. The school is protected by wards, so there is no reason to spread unnecessary alarm."

"We weren't trying to," Rose said quickly. "It's just—"

"As for you two," Professor Longbottom cut in, staring at them both, "and Albus Potter as well. We need you to stop trying to get involved in matters that are well beyond you. _Please_ stop looking for trouble."

Rose crossed her arms, defiant. "Our parents were always looking for trouble."

" _Wrong_ answer," Scorpius mumbled very quietly.

"Actually, trouble usually found them," Professor Longbottom corrected. "You three seem determined to go sleuthing for clues and conflict."

"We think the Elite Squad are going to revolt against Gladstone," Rose said, unable to help herself.

Scorpius closed his eyes tightly and sighed.

Their headmaster raised his eyebrows. "Regardless of what has given you that impression, it is not your concern. I remind you that you are not an Auror _yet_ , Miss Weasley."

Rose pressed her lips into a firm line. In spite of their wards and protocol and drills, Rose did not feel safe being in one of two underground common rooms. In fact, Rose didn't feel safe anywhere.

* * *

Lily Luna Potter had a talent for snooping, for spying and for collecting information. She was an endless source of news, something she took pride in. Hugo Weasley, on the other hand, was agitated by rule breaking and yet, he frequently found himself playing the look out while she spied on whomever it was she was spying on. He often resisted being dragged into Lily's schemes. Resisted, often to no avail.

"I've heard a rumour," Lily said quietly, tiptoeing up to the Matron's quarters, "that James has to have ten Mind Healer sessions or faces expulsion after sneaking out of Hogwarts."

"They're forcing him into therapy?" Hugo replied, pulling a face to suggest his skepticism. "James doesn't _do_ therapy."

"And mum was at the school yesterday night with Uncle Neville," Lily said, looking over her shoulder as they crept down a corridor.

"Who told you that?"

"One of the portraits on the second floor," she said, coming to a halt at the Hospital Wing and fishing out an Extendable Ear. "I'm on good terms with all the portraits."

She fished the fleshy string under the door and held up the other end to Hugo. He rolled his eyes irritably and took it. "We could be playing Gobstones right now."

"Oh, boo hoo," Lily replied, shoving the string into her ear. "It's a real tragedy we postponed it."

They leaned in to listen, both crouching by the door and holding their breath. But it was not James on the other end, as Lily had anticipated. They could hear Hannah immediately, muttering, but the person she was muttering to was no student.

"You can't hold this against me," they heard Professor Longbottom say after a moment.

"I _can_ , frankly. You are a teacher, Neville. _Deputy_ Headmaster. And you were placed as the head of security this year. Drummond is clearly grooming you to take his place and you're skipping off in the middle of the night—"

"It was _for the Order_ ," Neville hissed. They heard his footsteps cross the floor. "Hannah, this is a top secret operation. It's only the six of us. I had to take a night to be on watch."

Lily pressed herself against the door, as if she wanted to fall through it and appear in the room itself. Hugo grabbed her shoulder, but he too was now eagerly hooked, hanging on every word.

"You know, Harry might be a bit over his head here. Sure, Ron, you and Harry were all Aurors. But the _girls_ going…"

"Luna and Ginny are both accomplished duelers."

"I didn't say they weren't. They're just not professionals."

"We're the only ones who've been inside the Department of Mysteries. I think that qualifies us…"

There was a dragged out pause, loaded with tension. They both tried to imagine the looks flittering between husband and wife. When Neville next spoke, his tone had changed. "Are you jealous that you're not coming?"

"Don't be dense," Hannah burst out.

"It's just…lately you've seemed a tad bit jealous."

The incommunicable splutters of frustration from his wife painted a clear look of what was on her face, and the clear mistake her husband had made in voicing this.

"Are you really going to bring up _Bellucci_? You know my criticism of her has been justified."

"I know—I agree!"

"I just think you have a responsibility to your students, Neville. How is it that all the Weasleys and Potters are falling through the cracks?"

"They're not falling through the _cracks_."

"James clearly has post-traumatic stress and I haven't gotten a _word_ out of him about it. I've had to prescribe him half a dozen different potions. He'll be addicted to the Peace Draught by the time he's twenty if he keeps this up," Hannah spat. "You've got Rose and Albus determined to spy on every goblin they see, under the misconception they can singlehandedly curb the next rebellion. They've dragged Scorpius _Malfoy_ into it, which, for all his good graces, is not someone I am pleased knows about the existence of the Order—even if _you_ worship the ground he walks on."

"He reminds me of—"

" _Yourself_ , I know. Bloody hell, Neville. And don't get me started on Lily and Hugo, _spying_ on their siblings and, presumably, extended family. Honestly, I think Lily spend her every waking hour tracking James!"

Lily was quite affronted by this, almost yanking out the earpiece. Hugo grabbed her wrist, stopping her, eyes on the slit of light coming from beneath the door.

"And these are just the ones who are still at Hogwarts," Hannah went on, her voice now quaking. "Did you know that Teddy and Victoire are getting _married_ next month?"

Lily jumped, grabbing hold of Hugo's hand and pumping his fingers. She pressed the string closer to her ear.

"They're just rushing into this on a whim!"

"They've been dating since they were at Hogwarts. I hardly call this rushing."

"They were broken up a few months ago. Oh, just, never _mind_."

Hannah huffed. There was the clatter of instruments against a tray followed by the slam of a door.

* * *

Slytherin was in an awfully hushed and fearful mood following the drill. Meredith was spreading rumours that the school hadn't been searched this thoroughly since Sirius Black had been on the loose, and he had been a madman and a murderer. Rose was not sure where she had heard this rumour—which held some partial truth, as the school had not been searched this thoroughly in a very long time—but she went to great lengths to remind everyone that Sirius Black was not a murderer, that Hogwarts was the safest place in the world, and the evacuation exercise had been nothing but that— _an exercise_.

Still, muted panic was rippling through the dorms and the reason soon spread. The Slytherins were not dense, and it did not take them long to put two and two together. If the goblins attempted to tunnel their way into the school, Slytherin and Hufflepuff would be the students most in danger.

"No one is tunneling into _anywhere_ ," Rose insisted.

It made no difference. Hardly anyone slept the night after the drill, especially with Meredith linking any groan or grunt the Bloody Baron made to potential invaders storming the dungeon. Eventually, Rose was forced to confront the second year students standing out in the hallway, spooking the first and third years with their paranoia.

"It's a quarter to one," she snapped, her bare feet freezing on the stone floor. "All of you get to bed. There is _no_ one trying to break into the dungeons."

She returned to her bedroom disgruntled, glad to hear the slam of the second year's door down the corridor. She pulled on some bed socks and crawled back between her warm sheets, dropping off into a recurring dream.

She was running through the Forbidden Forest. Her legs hurt—something had happened to them. She was in a lot of pain, running as fast as she could. She wasn't sure what was chasing her, but it was right behind her—just far enough back in the scrub and trees that she couldn't make it out. All she could hear was it crashing along behind her.

Then, there was the tree, which glowed like a lantern. Rose stumbled into its ring of light. The leaves rustled above her like taffeta dragged across floorboards. Rose could see the honey sap leaking from the runes in the side. She reached out and touched the sticky sap, bringing her fingertip to her tongue. It was sweet and sour all at once, curling her taste buds.

She woke too soon—groggy, eyes feeling like dried out apricot pits in their sockets. She did not wake to pain or torchlight in her eyes, but to a sound. A _thump-thump-thump_ that vibrated through the ground.

Alice was already up, as alert as a hare. She grabbed her wand as Rose retrieved her own, both staring at the door. No one burst in. Nothing. Salty sweat gathered in the valley of Rose's upper lip.

Isabella stirred. "What is that?"

"Dunno." Rose's voice was hoarse. She cleared her throat.

It was rhythmic, unceasing. _Thump-thump-thump._ Muted. She heard a door open and close, then another. Some voices.

"We should investigate," Rose added, pulling back her sheets. There was a part of her that was very afraid, that wanted to pull the blankets up over her head, that believed Meredith's high-pitched whine of serial killers and search parties. She didn't want to leave the safety of her bed. But if someone had tunneled into the common room, she certainly wouldn't be safe in bed for long beneath a blanket.

Her roommates were stirring, each slipping on nightgowns or shoes. Rose found Alice on her left and Isabella on her right, simply by her side out of instinct. Gulping hard, she opened the door.

The thumping grew louder, emanating from the common room. Students were creeping hesitantly up the stairs. Rose approached the steps with her wand aloft, but the sound did not trigger fear. Instead, she recognised it as a bass. Pounding steady— _thump, thump, thump_ —followed by music over the top, and then lyrics.

 _She's got Firewhiskey lips and Wrackspurts on her mind. I'll ask her what's wrong and she'll tell me she's fine._

Rose emerged into the common room to find the furniture pushed back, the lights dim and a gramophone pumping out music. Several seventh years—both the boys and girls—were dancing. A few others had joined in. But the sight was so bizarre, so utterly bewildering, that Rose still felt half asleep. This had to be a dream.

Scorpius meandered his way towards them, utterly perplexed in his blue, pinstriped pyjamas and uncharacteristically disheveled hair. "What in Merlin's name is going on?"

Rose shrugged, as did Isabella. Alice stuck her wand behind her ear. "I love this song," she called over the bass, to no one in particular. Then, she too joined the crowd. Tiberius Gallo gave her his crooked tooth grin as she joined them, stepping aside to allow her into the circle of dancing seniors. It seemed absurd, really, as more and more members of both dorms emerged pyjama-clad to find their housemates raving at three o'clock in the morning. Those bold enough began to join in, while others hung around the periphery, gawking.

Meredith popped up next to Rose like a meerkat, wearing a pyjama shirt with a picture of the very hungry caterpillar across the front. She took Rose's hand.

"Come on, let's dance," Meredith beamed, her bleary eyes filled with sleep.

"I don't know, Maxwell…"

"C'mon Rose!"

Meredith tugged Rose over to the dancers, who were taking turns darting into the middle of the ring to jump and wiggle and twirl to the music. Savvas Demitriou was currently in the circle, moving wildly, thrusting his hips and performing a move called the Vampire Wing that had been popularised by the Bent Winged Snitches. He was so fluid and unselfconscious that his movements were majestic.

As soon as he blended back into the ring, Rose was pulled into the middle with Meredith, who shimmied dramatically towards her. It was silly and ridiculous and both girls were in their pyjamas. People in the circle clapping and dancing around her whooped and cheered them on. Rose knew that she, too, had to let go of her reservations and dance like a twelve year old if she really wanted to enjoy the moment.

So she put her inhibitions aside and took Meredith's hands, performing a perfectly tasteless swing double arm slide followed by an inside turn. Meredith slid through the movements like a ragdoll, before putting Rose through what she later termed 'the washing machine.' Rose was far too tall for her dance partner, and spent the next minute in an awkward stoop, being mercilessly twirled under Meredith's arms. The absolute glee on her mousey face was infectious; Rose felt it tweaking her mouth into a goofy grin and loosening up her limbs. She felt like a child—better than just a child. She felt weightless, without any concerns. The world was merely silliness and the bass' beat. Then, they too were absorbed back into the circle as Alice took their place.

It didn't make how bad the dance moves or song choice was. This was a fag-master raid, and it was happening in the small hours of the morning that never felt real. Tomorrow, they would all wake up for a day of classes, forbidden of talking about the fun that had happened the night before.

* * *

"We want it to be a small wedding," Victoire insisted, placing her hands on the surface of the dinning table. The one thing worse than being confined to Grimmauld Place was being forced to plan a wedding within the confines of Grimmauld Place, without so much as an escape from the madness.

"How small is small?" Dominique squinted. "Because, to me, one-hundred-and-fifty is small."

"No," Victoire said, shaking her head defiantly. " _No_. Fifty is small."

"One hundred," Dominique offered.

"Fifty," Victoire insisted. "This is not a negotiation."

They had had the same conversation at least three times.

"Fifty hardly even covers our extended family! Mum—" Dominique twisted in her seat as her mother bustled into the room, laying down fabric samples on the table. "Tell Victoire she has to have a big wedding."

Victoire sighed loudly, as sigh that turned to an angry groan. She thumped her head onto the table. Fleur delicately took hold of her chin and tilted it upright again to display the fabrics—all in various shades of ivory that really looked the exact same.

"Yoo do not 'ave to 'ave a beeg wedding. I waz theenking around one 'undred and fifty," Fleur said, brushing her hands over the white lace she laid in front of Victoire. "Which do yoo like for ze dress?"

"Maman," Victoire pleaded, taking hold of her mother's hands. " _S'il vous plait_."

"Ça va, ça va!" Fleur sighed, slipping her hands away and folding the ivory satin. "Just ze family."

"The _immediate_ family," Victoire added.

"Ze _whole_ family, Victoire. Zis is your wedding."

"Exactly! _My_ wedding. Surely I get a say on how big it is." Fleur wasn't listening. She had already bundled up the fabric samples and was sauntering out of the room. Her daughter leaned back on her chair to call after her, "Not the lace! I hate lace."

Her mother did not respond to these final lines. Victoire rolled her eyes before placing her head in her hands. Dominique stroked her hair absentmindedly. She and Teddy had wanted to do this quickly—they had even talked of eloping. They didn't want a fuss made out of the wedding. They had already discussed that the reason they were doing this so quickly was to avoid the fanfare—to skip the wedding and enter a marriage. To continue doing what they had been doing all their lives, just now with the vows attached. Being best friends. Being lovers. They did not need close to two hundred people there to witness the moment.

"You're not making this easy on mum. Planning a wedding in a month," Dominique accused, trying a new tactic to get Victoire to submit to the will of the wedding-crazed women in her family.

She dropped her arms with a thump onto the table and blew the hair out of her eyes. "I didn't ask her to plan it or pay for it."

"But you knew she would. She's your mother."

She heard footsteps at the door again and groaned, thumping her head against the table this time. However, it was not her mother touting invitations or veils as expected. Instead, it was her fiancée and very soon to be husband.

"Hey sorry," he said, kissing Victoire on the top of her head and giving Dominique a pat on top of hers. "Weird stuff happening in the Ministry to deal with these goblin riots—"

He broke off and stared pointedly at Dominique, who sat with her chin cupped in her hand. She smiled, clearly pleased to have caught this information and eager to hear more. Teddy raised her eyebrows.

"I'm helping Vic wedding-plan. I'm not going anywhere," Dominique said with an angelic smile. Her older sister grunted in response, pulling her jumper's hood over her eyes. Teddy tugged the drawstrings shut so her head was trapped inside. Dominique giggled, amused. "What's your opinion on who gets invited to the wedding, Teddy?"

"Oh, family of course," he shrugged. "And a few close friends."

Victoire scrambled to escape from her hood-prison. She tugged her face free again. "Just the immediate family, right?"

"You know. The family. We have a lot of family," Teddy shrugged. He had unintentionally given Dominique her victory and only noticed after the triumphant look she shared with her sister. Having cottoned on, Teddy wrapped his lanky arms around Victoire and leaned in to kiss the side of her cheek. "I really missed you today."

"Did you?" she said dryly, hunched over in her now overstretched jumper.

"Mmmhmm," Teddy mumbled, leaning into peck Victoire's nose. As she turned to protest, he gave her a long, lip-smacking snog that sent Dominique right out of her seat like a firecracker.

"Right, _I'm_ going," she announced.

Victoire waved vaguely, still swapping spit with Teddy, an activity they continued until they were alone. The moment the door closed, Teddy sat back with a big, coy grin stretched across his face. Victoire's mouth flinched into a smile. The swept aside the bridal magazines and marquee floor plan that her mother and sister had spread across the table. With Teddy here, wedding plans were the last thing on her mind.

"What's happening with the strikes?" she asked.

"The Elite Squad are refusing to deal with it so I had to stay back and help my department consider peaceful strategies for reigning in dissent," Teddy said, running a hand over his face. "Well, I really just took notes. I try not to speak unless spoken to."

"Why aren't the Elite Squad just charging in and slitting throats?" Victoire prompted. "That'll stop dissenters."

Teddy winced. Clearly slitting throats wasn't what he would consider a solution. "I don't think they're following the King's orders anymore. In any case, the Elite Squad has enough might behind them to do as they please. They're an entire army of brutes and their loyalty isn't solid."

They lapsed into a silence. Victoire stared distractedly at the glossy magazine of a witch in a wedding dress. Subheadings flashed with words like _Ten Magical Honeymoon Hideaways_ and _Five Dancing Cake-Toppers That Will Blow Your Mind!_ All of this wedding-prep seemed so nitty gritty and meaningless. Who cared whether their cake-topper blew minds? And she and Teddy hadn't even considered the possibility of a honeymoon.

"There's talk of overthrowing the Goblin King and getting rid of Gladstone," Teddy murmured, also staring at the giggling bride on the front cover. "I think that's what these strikes are really about." Victoire nodded in reply, slipping her hand into his. Their engagement bands clinked. Teddy went on, hushed in his optimistic musing. "Wouldn't it be great if the dissenters managed it and everything just returned to…"

"Normal?" Victoire snorted, raising her brows.

"To peace," Teddy corrected, closing his eyes.

"I think it'll be a bit too good to be true. We humans will get our hands dirty somehow," Victoire said, picking up the magazine and flipping through it. So many smiling, twirling, laughing brides. All as vapid and simple as the last. Victoire could not imagine herself in a white dress, twirling and laughing and smiling vapidly. She could not imagine being simple. "We should have just eloped."

"That was the plan, wasn't it?"

"But my mother's gone mental. Dominique thinks I'm being ungrateful," Victoire added, pulling a face. "I didn't want a big wedding."

Teddy pacified her, resting his chin on the top of her head, "We'll keep it to the family only."

"That's what everyone _says_."

"I'll go through the big white wedding and talk flower arrangements and cake-toppers," Teddy mumbled. Victoire slunk her hands around his waist. "I'll do it, I'll do whatever it takes. I just want to be married to you."

"Simple," she agreed.

"Simple."

* * *

It was that time of year again. Suits of armour needed charming, Christmas trees needed to be decorated, everlasting icicles needed to be frozen to the staircases. This last task was assigned to Albus and Imogen, and as the prefects split up to undertake their decorating duties, the Gryffindors headed towards the moving staircases.

Albus took out his wand and shook back his sleeve. He was a whizz at Charms and was willing to take the lead. If he got this done quickly enough, he and Malfoy could return to their previous arrangements. In any case, the quicker his prefect duties were done, the better. Imogen trailed behind him, running her hand along the banister, glaring in her usual fashion at the portraits on the walls.

"Got any Christmas plans?" Albus said, straining to be polite.

"Just going home to spend it with mum," she replied, pulling her wand out and pausing to watch Albus perform the spell. A row of icicles appeared under the bannister, glittery and lethally sharp. "We're not very religious so we don't really do much _on_ Christmas. And she'll be working on Boxing Day."

"You should come over," Albus said, glancing back at her. He said it almost reflexively. He was so used to just offering friends the inivitation. She was a couple of steps below him and paused at this, almost confused. Albus hesitated. "For Boxing Day, I mean. My whole extended family gets together."

"You live in Ottery St. Catchpole, don't you?" she squinted, brushing a loose strand of hair from her eyes. "It's a bit far."

"I'll send you some Floo Powder," Albus offered. "Unless…is your fireplace connected, or…?"

Albus hesitated again. Imogen turned, busying herself with producing some rather warped icicles beneath a portrait of a former philosopher, who squawked in indignation and stormed out of her frame. It occurred to Albus for the first time that Imogen may not have been friendless by choice—it was just very difficult to make friends with wizards and witches when you were so absolutely isolated from them.

"I'll send someone around to get you, if you want. Side-Along Apparition. Which reminds me," he added, as Imogen turned to protest. "We'll be starting Apparition classes after Christmas. We'll have to hand out the permission slips."

For a while, they worked side by side, in silence. They had made good progress—on the last moving staircase, having avoided the trip step—when Imogen spoke.

"I suppose, if you really _insist_ …"

"What? Oh, er," Albus fiddled with his wand. Imogen waited, hands on her hips, tawny eyes resolved. It took him a moment to realise why she was so expectant. "Oh, right. Well I do. I insist."

Imogen sighed heavily and leaned against the banister, challenging Albus to do better. Albus placed a hand over his heart.

"I really, _truly_ insist, Imogen. Please, it would be our _honour_ to have you there on Boxing Day. We would all love it if you'd join us. In fact, I will not take no for an answer. If you refuse, I'll have to forcibly remove you from your house and smuggle you across the country."

Imogen rolled her eyes and waved a hand to dismiss him. "Alright, enough. I'll come over for Boxing Day." She swept past him, tucking her wand back into her robes as she headed in the direction of the Gryffindor Tower. She smirked as she passed him. "Since you _insist_."

* * *

During the lunch break, Scorpius sat down beside Meredith with a broom catalogue and slid it into her small hands, taking the sandwich that had previously been occupying them. Meredith blinked down at the glossy pages.

"Take your pick," Scorpius said.

She swallowed hard.

" _Any_ of them?"

"Oi, hold on," Rose said, leaning across the table to snatch the sandwich out of Scorpius' thin fingers. "You're just going to buy her a bloody broom?"

"As a Christmas gift," Scorpius clarified.

"A bloody _broom_?"

Rose gaped at him. Scorpius returned back to the catalogue, pointing out those he thought would be best for Meredith's height and flying style. She hummed thoughtfully. Rose took an indignant bite of Meredith's sandwich.

She had previously expressed that she did not want fancy gifts or expensive Christmas presents. One thing that made her uncomfortable was the endless opulence at the tips of Scorpius' fingers—especially when most of the country was doing it tough. It just felt unjustified.

"Well, if I got the newest Comet—"

"Think about it, Maxwell. This'll be a broom you'll have for years to come. You want something that'll last," Scorpius urged in a low voice.

"Choosing a broom?" Albus asked, walking over and taking a bite out of an apple.

"We'll be a minute," Scorpius replied.

"I'd go for the new Nimbus if Malfoy's buying," Albus recommended.

"Well, I do like the chestnut coloured handle," Meredith agreed.

"Sold. C'mon, Malfoy. We only have forty minutes," Albus prodded.

Scorpius rolled up the catalogue and poked it into the pocket of his robes. Rose sat up now, looking between them both anxiously. "Hang on. Where are you two going?"

Albus stared at her, clearly thinking. Scorpius grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder.

"To the boy's lavatory," Albus decided.

"What, for _forty_ minutes?"

"See you in Charms," Albus called, following Malfoy out of the hall.

Rose took another fierce bit of Meredith's sandwich. She turned to glare at Meredith, who looked quite pleased with herself. "Is your boyfriend cheating on you with your cousin?"

"He's _not_ my boyfriend," Rose snapped.

* * *

Bellucci's room was far too warm. Rose and Scorpius arrived together, both in black dress robes. The Christmas trees had real candles bobbing along the branches and the room was filled with bodies. The black was a mistake—they were already attracting too much heat just by standing in the doorway.

Rose bunched her hair up to let the nape of her neck breathe. She was wearing black, velvet dress robes, cut snugly to fit her body and finishing below the knee. Albus approached them both from across the room, passing Scorpius a goblet of eggnog before fiddling with Rose's deep plunging neckline.

"I'm here to perform the role of your mother," he said in a low voice, securing the front of her dress so it covered her bra.

Rose turned to Scorpius as Albus straightened the fabric. "You didn't tell me my bra was showing," she said through clenched teeth.

"I don't know, Rose. I assumed it was a part of your look," Scorpius drawled, rolling his eyes. "Was this for me?" he asked Albus, before taking a gulp of eggnog.

"Er, I guess it's too late to say no," Albus replied, taking the goblet off him.

"Do I look alright?" Scorpius requested, rolling his shoulders and tilting his head back.

Rose rolled her eyes this time, aware that she was being belittled. But her cousin assessed him with the same attentiveness. Albus fluffed Scorpius' hair and straightened his bow tie.

"You look sharp," Albus acknowledged. "Let's mingle."

The three of them entered the room. It was packed with students, current and alumni alike. Several older wizards and witches appeared to be in conversation with seventh years. They had yet to spot Bellucci, but she could be anywhere in the crowd.

Fake snow drifted from the ceiling, melting when it touched the floor. It fell into their hair like powder, tickling their eyelashes. It powdered Albus' black hair, making it look as if he had a bad case of dandruff. Students in black robes were serving drinks and food on silver trays. Another reason why the black was a bad choice. She and Scorpius looked like servers. Rose was startled to see Angus Finnigan approach, dutifully proffering a plate of pumpkin pasties.

"Angus, what are you doing serving us?" Albus asked, keeping his hands fixed by his side. Both Rose and Scorpius accepted the pasties. Rose stacked several onto her napkin.

"Bellucci said if we volunteered to help out tonight, she would give us extensions on our potion essays," he said, balancing the tray precariously.

"These are really good," Rose said, biting into the pasty. "Have you tried these?"

"Well—I, er, am not supposed to," Angus said, offering the tray to Albus who still refused.

Rose grabbed a handful of pasties and tucked them into Angus' pockets, who was so surprised by this gesture he almost dropped the tray. Once she had stolen enough food for him to try, Rose sent him on his way.

They assessed the crowd again, Rose standing between both boys as she examined the faces of the famous and notable. She clutched both their arms and nodded in the direction of a group of goblins. They followed her gaze. The three goblins were finely dressed, and appeared to be speaking to someone in Ministerial robes. Albus grabbed Rose's hand but she shook it free, gripping his robes instead, clutching at each other in some absurd exchange. Scorpius moved away from them both.

"Use your _words_ ," Scorpius said slowly.

"Don't even think about it, Rose."

"They're guests of Bellucci. Surely I can have a _chat_."

"We're not letting you," Scorpius interposed.

Rose began to protest, but was promptly silenced when Albus picked up a pasty from her napkin and shoved it into her mouth. She chewed vigorously while making noises of complaint, but the boys dragged her by the elbows towards the other end of the room, dodging clumps of mistletoe that hovered above them. When they were on the far end of the room, they released her.

"Merlin, I hate Christmas," Scorpius muttered, ducking around a large, ornately decorated European Silver Fir.

Albus' head jerked towards him, eyes wide. "You _hate_ Christmas?"

"He means he dislikes it," Rose replied, taking a seat on a small red pouf. She crossed her legs and arms. "Malfoy speaks in extremes."

"How can anyone _dislike_ Christmas?" Albus said slowly, shaking his head.

Scorpius ran his hands over his silvery hair, dusting some of the tree's prickles off the top of his head. Snow continued to drift down on them, and he batted that away too.

"Look, it's not that I dislike it. It's just…" he trailed off, but the pair of cousins waited attentively for the end of the sentence. "It's just, a lot of effort and a lot of socialising with people you'd rather not see…" he petered off, shaking his robes out.

Albus turned to Rose, wide-eyed. "Malfoy has never had a proper Christmas."

"No," Rose agreed, crossing her legs. "He hasn't. He doesn't like socialising."

"Because he's never done is properly," Albus insisted. "Socialising for him is benefit balls and the opera and snooty, all adult parties with fancy house elves."

"I'm sitting _right_ here," Scorpius complained.

"I invited him to do Christmas with us," Rose said, unknotting her limbs and plucking a pastry off a passing tray. "But he thinks he'll stick out like a sore thumb or something."

"Well, you'd have a hard time convincing your mum and dad," Albus reasoned.

"He wanted to spend it at Hogwarts," Rose said, lowering her voice. "Mum would welcome him over simply because he's a tragedy case."

Scorpius rolled his eyes and made as if he was going to leave their ensemble, but Albus grabbed his arm.

"Honestly mate, you should come over," Albus reasoned, sounding keen. "The Scamanders will probably be there. And the Finnigans are spending Christmas with us. And I invited Imogen to come over for Boxing Day."

"You invited Imogen," Rose said, raising her eyebrows.

"She's a charity case too," Albus said. "She practically begged me."

"My logic persuades me to decline the offer of a charity case Christmas invitation," Scorpius said, bored.

"No, mate. You need to accept it." Albus clutched Scorpius' shoulder. "A Weasley Christmas is a spiritual experience."

In a way, it was clear Scorpius didn't doubt this. Both Rose and Albus stared at him solemnly, no trace of humour in their eyes. He had no idea what Christmas was to them, but for him, it was always a tense and austere affair. He nodded tiredly, gazing over the room. "If your parents agree, I'll come," he relented, his eyes resting on the door. "Oh, Isabella just arrived. I better go mediate with her. Unless…"

He hesitated, looking back at his two friends. Albus flapped him onwards. "Go and mediate."

Relieved, Scorpius took his leave. Rose summoned a few drinks and drew closer to Albus, discussing ways they could convince her parents to allow Scorpius to stay for the whole holiday duration. They shared these words in quiet, conspiratorial murmurs. Albus pointed out that her parents wouldn't accept Malfoy at Christmas if he were the only Slytherin, so Rose resolved to ask Zabini as well, who was another lost case. Surely, her mother, the perpetual saint for lost causes, would convince the others to let them stay. And if worse came to worse, Rose would complain of the unfairness of never having any school friends over when Albus and Hugo and Lily and James were allowed to.

As they reached this conclusion, they noticed Imogen Abercrombie crossing the room, holding a couple of drinks. She was in dark, burgundy robes and her ash blonde hair was piled into a bun on top of her head. When she reached them both, Rose noticed that her tawny eyes were heavy with kohl. She handed Albus a drink.

"Mingled so far?" she asked dryly.

"Largely with each other," Albus supplied, motioning to his cousin.

Imogen nodded, turning around to examine the rest of the room disdainfully. Her eyes lingered on a Quidditch player from the Appleby Arrows who was speaking to Professor Bellucci. Rose took this pause to make her escape and find those goblins.

"Oh, _look_ , they're bringing in meat platters," she said, wiggling away from Albus, who snagged her wrist at the last moment.

" _Rose_."

"Honestly, Albus. I'm just going to get some meat."

She jerked her hand away from him and smiled tightly before disappearing into the throng. Still, she heard him mutter to Imogen, "I wouldn't be surprised if she bites off more than she can chew."

* * *

Isabella looked self-consciously around the room. The moment she saw Malfoy making his way towards her, she grabbed hold of his hand and dragged him towards a Christmas tree. She was in her red dress robes that clinched with a broach at the waist—she had worn them last year. It was unlike her to repeat outfits, and of course, Scorpius noticed.

"I know, I know. I can't afford a new dress," she said scathingly, tugging at her low ponytail.

"You're really quite late," Scorpius observed.

"Fashionably late," she countered, taking a goblet of eggnog. "Oh, are those _Quidditch_ players?"

"You don't even follow the league."

"Doesn't mean I don't see Witch Weekly's centerfolds." Isabella batted her eyelashes in that direction. "I need your advice. You know when you've held a really long grudge…"

"Yes," he said, raising his eyebrows. He knew exactly.

"And you sort of feel ready to move on, but you can't. Because of your pride…"

"Right?"

"How do you do the moving on bit?" she finished.

Isabella continued to examine the crowd, holding her goblet close to her chest, nursing her eggnog. Her watery brown eye bounced over the heads of the group. Scorpius responded carefully.

"Is this about Zabini?"

Isabella shrugged non-committedly, and Scorpius imagined it was not exclusively about André Zabini. Rose had just disappeared through the crowd in the direction of a food tray. For the sake of Isabella's pride, Scorpius pretended it was exclusively about Zabini.

"He is ready to move on as soon as you are. Suppose you went out with a boy…"

"Are you propositioning me, Scorpius?" she said, finally turning to face him and battering her eyelashes as she had at the Quidditch players. However, with him, it was utterly false.

"Never. But I think you should proposition someone."

Isabella shrugged, this time a little disappointed dip of the shoulders. She turned to examine the crowd once more. The room was abuzz, filled with people in conversation, sharing ideas and drinks. Scorpius stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Isabella and blinked out at the room as the internal snow drifted down. Rose and Albus had been right—he had never had a _proper_ Christmas. His earliest memories were sitting beside Isabella at events and parties where they were amid a wall of knees and calves, the very youngest in the room, without company or amusement. Seen but never heard. Acknowledged merely for how well behaved they were.

"Grudges are a waste of time," he said, instead. "I held a grudge against Rose Weasley and Company for years and I don't think she even noticed."

"I know," Isabella agreed. "But you hold a grudge and you wait until it blows over. But you painted yourself into a corner while you waited."

He was amused by this reasoning. They leaned against the wall, watching everyone mingle in their finery.

"I've always had an idea of what my life was supposed to be like in my head," Isabella said slowly, her eyebrows bunched together. "And I'm starting to realise I might not get that story."

"Don't fret about it, Belle," Scorpius said, thinking of Rose and smiling privately to himself. "You might get an even better story. In fact, I'm sure of it. Because you'll be the one writing it."

* * *

Rose had, of course, walked towards the food tray only to detour towards the goblin moving off in the opposite direction. He was short, neatly dressed, with a small pointed beard. She caught him as he neared the door. With as little tact as ever, she intercepted him with a, "Hello sir!"

He was so startle his hands jumped to his belt, presumably for a weapon. He turned around, only to find Rose Weasley—auburn curls and freckled cheeks and blue eyes—beaming back at him. Something in his dark, beady eyes told Rose that he recognised who she was.

"I hope I haven't caught you on the way out," she said, another tactless admission, "but I was wondering if I could have a word. Professor Bellucci mentioned that it would be in my favour. What was your name?"

The goblin regarded her carefully before replying, "Alec the Mountain Cruncher. The name sounds silly in your language," he admitted. His voice was warmer than Rose expected. Hoarse and low, reassuring. "You are a Weasley."

"Yes," she said, unsurprised. "Rose Weasley."

"I believe I met your parents at the Summit," he added, leaning against the wall now, hand still at his belt. It did not appear he was carrying a knife. He merely had a wand—the handle of which he held incorrectly. "Almost a year ago."

"Wow," she mused. "A lot has happened in a year."

"Indeed."

They both gazed at one another for a moment. In her mind, it was a standoff. But Alec was not glaring or trying to intimidate. As the pause lengthened, he dropped his arm.

"I do not think you wished to speak to me about my job as the Resource Manager. You do not strike me as interested in economics."

"Not in the least bit," Rose agreed, feeling far too frank. But there was something trustworthy in this goblin. Perhaps it was _his_ frankness. "I wanted to ask about the goblin strikes."

"Ah," he nodded, looking grim. "The King has threatened to replace me due to those strikes. I cannot pacify the miners."

As always, Rose seemed to be struggling to make neither heads nor tails with this knowledge. Was discordance in the goblin kingdom a good or bad sign? So far, it had felt like an us against them battle, one where she was forced to think of her family and the Order's ideals. Now, she was beginning to realise the goblins were not as united a front as Gladstone represented them.

"To be blunt with you, Ms Weasley, they are angry. Goblins are not accustomed to living above ground, or coexisting with humans. They feel it is a betrayal of our values. The miners are beginning to revolt. It is not the first time, and I fear it, for their sakes. The King responded most cruelly during the previous purges."

"Do you support the King?" she asked, not realising how bold this question was.

Alec frowned. Without hesitating, he stated, "Of course. The King is right and this opposition must be suppressed."

"But if they're risking their lives to challenge him, they'd have a good enough cause…"

Rose broke off, drinking in the look that had drowned Alec's civil expression. His pointed, sharp features had hardened to ice. Each word uttered from his thin lips sounded like a bullet. "Do you know what a revolution looks like, Ms Weasley?"

"Well," she hesitated, very conscious of the wand she had slipped into her stockings. It would be difficult to retrieve. "We've just gone through one, haven't we? With Gladstone reforming the government. With wand rights and the definition of wizard changing."

Alec slowly shook his head, the gesture carrying weight. She was so much taller than him, but she felt so small under his eyes. "You speak of a _social_ revolution, Ms Weasley. I speak of a true revolution. Blood will be spilt. There will be suffering. Regimes will crumble and the innocent will suffer in the process. It will all be for nothing in the end. Better no one revolts. Better the King reigns."

Rose stared at him for a long moment. She may have only been on the cusp of adulthood, but she could not accept that a tyrannical King and a corrupt government could reign simply to eliminate the possibility of conflict and bloodshed. "The innocent are already suffering, Alec," she said, rather hotly. "Werewolves are being murdered. Squibs are being sterilised. And I have friends who have lost loved ones to goblins. I think a revolt may be justified."

Alec's hard expression softened into something sad. He nodded, but not as if he was agreeing. He pushed open the door. "I am not certain by what means we must justify bloodshed, Ms Weasley, but that will be on the conscience of those who spill it."

* * *

"Merlin," Albus muttered scanning the crowd. "Where has Rose gotten off to? Honestly, that girl…"

Imogen squinted at the crowd and followed on his heel, brushing shoulders with the rich and the famous as they passed.

"I probably scared her off," Imogen acknowledged drolly. "Sorry I'm hanging off your robes. I just feel like a sore thumb."

"Weird idiom," Albus acknowledged, walking ahead of her.

"A giant squid out of water," Imogen suggested. "A blast ended skrewt in a unicorn paddock."

Albus stopped to address her seriously, turning to face her. Imogen came to an abrupt stop behind him, almost colliding with him. "You deserve to be here," he said, grabbing her shoulders to get the message through. "You are one of the best potion brewers in our form. You are one of four students taking _Alchemy_ , for Merlin's sake. Who cares if you're a muggleborn witch? Of if you are the dreariest person alive? Or if you nickname is unfortunately Midge? Those things don't matter."

Albus released her shoulders and Imogen slowly raised her eyebrows, smirking at him. "Did you really pull the Midge card during a pep-talk?"

"I think I did," Albus said sardonically. "Mostly because it was necessary to inject some irony into that speech for you to take it seriously."

"You realise your name is Albus Severus, so Midge by comparison…"

"Is still worse than Albus Severus," Albus said firmly. "I was named after two of Hogwart's headmasters, the two bravest men my dad ever knew. Both of which were quite dubious, I've been told. But still. There are worse things to be named after."

"Like butterbeer firewhiskey," Imogen said, raising her goblet. "The two bravest drinks I ever did drink."

"Or Lion Snake, the bravest House crests I ever did wear," Albus said, saluting her with his own goblet.

"Mistletoe," Imogen said.

"That's only one word," Albus contradicted.

"No, we're standing under mistletoe." She gestured with her goblet.

Albus looked up. They were indeed standing under a bunch of mistletoe, suspended with a Hover Charm. It bobbed above their heads, green and leafy with little white buds, fresh and covered in snowflakes. Albus felt the heat climb to his collar and contained the urge to set it on fire with a hex.

"Traditionally," Imogen said, cocking an eyebrow, "you're supposed to kiss under mistletoe."

The heat climbed from his collar to his cheeks.

"Well, lucky we're not traditionalists," he said loudly, grabbing her by the crook of the arm and pulling her away from the floating flower arrangement. Imogen stumbled with the force of his yank, spilling the contents of her drink on the carpet and colliding with a few seventh years.

"Oi," she said, yanking her arm free. "What's your problem?"

"I was—I was just doing you a favour," he blustered. The seventh years glared in their direction before shuffling off. Albus straightened his robes. "I mean, it's not as if I'd actually kiss you."

Imogen blinked a few times in genuine surprise, startled by what Albus realised was an actually (horrifically) tactless thing to say. Albus was _never_ tactless. He immediately began to back peddle. "No—no, no. I didn't mean kissing you would be gross, I just meant, we're _mates_ , and it would be—I would be weird about it. And there are people around," he added, nodding in those people's direction. Imogen's stare was becoming increasingly incredulous. "It would be weird for them too. _And_ for us. We'd be all weird during patrols. I would be weird, probably. I've only ever kissed Lucy Bird and, honestly, I think I was a bloody awful kisser anyway so I was just doing you a favour."

He finished with a little huff, tugging at his sleeve. His face was burning so much it must have been fluorescent. Imogen had completely kept her cool throughout his tirade. Now that he was finished, she merely passed him her half empty goblet and swept past him, burgundy robes billowing.

* * *

Scorpius took a seat on one of the ottomans, sipping on some eggnog, enjoying a moment of quiet amid the revelry while Isabella was mingling with the pro-Quidditch players. His moment of quiet did not last for long, as Albus was already power walking towards him.

"Let's just leave," Albus said, grabbing the eggnog out of Scorpius' hand and placing it on a nearby table. "This party is a bust anyway."

"I'm having fun," Scorpius offered, for quiet and orderly talking with low background music was his kind of fun.

Rose wheedled her way over to the boys, fixing her dress again so the plunging neckline sat straight. Albus squinted at her suspiciously. "Where have you been?"

"I was just being sociable," Rose replied, shaking back her hair.

"You weren't interrogating those goblin officials were you? If Professor Longbottom finds out—"

"No one will find out anything," Rose insisted, taking Scorpius' abandoned eggnog off the nearby table and drinking it. Their attempt to stay together did not last very long, for Stella Bellucci—their elusive host—appeared at that moment. Dressed in a red satin gown with a white fur trim, she threw her gloved hands around their shoulders from behind, startling them.

"My star students," Bellucci cried, grabbing Rose by the shoulders and pulling her away from the two boys. She threw her hair over her shoulder and stretched her red, painted lips into a smile. "Rose, dear, it's lovely to have you here. I must introduce you to a Hit Witch here tonight; I think it would be invaluable for your future career. Practical jobs need these kinds of contacts. She's _right_ over there, see? Her name's Claudia Coy."

"Oh, er," Rose said slinking out of her grip. "I'll be sure to go over and have a word. Thank you, Professor."

"In the meanwhile, I wanted to introduce the two of you to a group of Potioneers who work in Restorative brewing," Bellucci grinned, giving a little wink. "Come with me."

Rose watched the boys leave with a pained smile. Left once more to her devices, she sculled the drink and picked her way through the crowd until she was face to face with the Seeker and Beater of the Appleby Arrows. Rose beamed at them both. They were handsome, the Beater very muscular and the Seeker lean and trim. Both in their thirties, perhaps a couple of years between them. Rose also noticed, a second too late, that Isabella Nott was amid their number.

However, Isabella did not glare or glower at Rose, nor did she ignore her. She just responded to whatever the Beater had said—"Yes, I find that the sponsors this year have lacked their usual weight"—before nodding at Rose and adding, "this is Rose Weasley. She plays on the Slytherin Quidditch team as Beater."

"You don't say," the Beater said, eyeing her with surprise. "A girl playing Beater? And for _Slytherin_?"

"I punched the team Captain," Rose said, offering her hand to shake both of theirs, "and he was so impressed with my right hook that he had me join the team."

"You punched the Captain?" The Seeker whistled, impress. "He didn't flog you for it?"

"No, but he—" Rose bit her tongue. _Snogged me for it._

"Merlin, I remember it being a big deal when Bellucci was on our team, and she was playing Chaser. Slytherin's come far, it seems," the Seeker mused.

Rose and Isabella both raised their eyebrows. Isabella turned to Rose, a little stiffly, to offer an explanation. "Er, both Ian and Earnest were on the Slytherin team back I Bellucci's time at Hogwarts."

"I was in the same year as her," the Seeker, Earnest, said. He gave a cocky grin. "She made sure to stay in touch."

Imagining Bellucci on the Quidditch pitch seemed absurd. Rose tried to picture her in her satin gown, flying on a broomstick with a Quaffle in her manicured fingers. She shook the image from her mind.

"What was she like, back at school?" Isabella asked, curious.

Ian blushed a little. He scratched the back of his head.

"She went out with Ian for a little while," Earnest grinned. "But she went out with a lot of blokes. Ian thought he would be the one."

"Come on, mate. Sod off," Ian scoffed, giving his teammate a shove.

"I'll tell you what, girls—I've never known a witch who was such an opportunist," Earnest chuckled, brushing Ian aside. "Back then, girl's weren't often picked for the Slytherin team. But Stella made _sure_ she got on that team, the only girl on there too, no matter what. She always got whatever she wanted."

Again, both Isabella and Rose raised their eyebrows at this. Yet, the two men were oblivious to their disparagement and after a bit more small talk, the girls slunk away. They slid their hands over their dresses to adjust the fabric—Rose's black velvet and Isabella's red silk—before facing one another again. There was a slight edge of awkwardness, a tinge of self-aware hostility.

"Bellucci sounds a bit like you," Isabella said, her voice light yet still slightly reproachful.

"What! I thought she sounded like _you_ ," Rose accused.

"Me?"

"Yes, you. With the whole, she always gets whatever she wants."

Isabella's brow crumpled together, more curious than offended. "I thought she sounded like you, with the whole opportunist thing."

"Huh," Rose mumbled. She turned back to assess the party. Their host and Professor was still mediating between Scorpius, Albus and the bunch of alchemists she had brought along—stuffy, older wizards with long white beards and crinkled eyes. Bellucci emanated lyrical laughter and dazzling smiles, which carried across the room like perfume, a fragrant sweet aura of hospitality. Fraternity. Community. Networking. Bellucci had perfected it to a T.

"I don't have to like you," Isabella said blandly, staring at Bellucci. "We just have to get along."

"Easy," Rose agreed, nodding. She sent Isabella a sidelong glance and grinned a bit. "And don't lie. You like me."

"Don't push your luck," she replied, before lurching off the wall and heading towards Scorpius. Albus greeted Isabella gratefully; glad to have company other than the ancient alchemists he was in discussion with. Scorpius merely offered Isabella a quick introduction before launching further into the conversation, uncharacteristically verbose with the potioneers. Rose smiled privately to herself. She had a feeling that Christmas and New Years would bring a change in tides.

* * *

 **A/N: Don't say I never did anything for ya. Chapter up in record time. I had a really bad week this week so take it easy on me - also, both my betas are overseas so I only used my eyes to proof read. I'm sorry for any typos that slipped in.**

 **I have a particular love for Christmas chapters and the next one will be a beauty. Review to give me fuel. My stamina for life is dangerously low.**


	11. Chapter Eleven

—CHAPTER ELEVEN—

"I really think you ought to be staying the entire holidays with us," Rose said, pouting a little.

It was bitter cold as the train pulled up at Hogsmeade's station with a puff of steam announcing its arrival. Students blew warm breath into cold hands and pulled their luggage towards fogged up carriages. Winter was upon them with a vengeance as the Christmas holidays began.

Scorpius stood on the platform, his hair tucked into a beanie and his hands lost in an oversized jumper. Zabini stood beside him, hands in pockets, jumping on the spot to stay warm.

"We're not staying the whole holidays," Scorpius replied, rolling his eyes. "We'll be there Christmas morning."

"Bring a change of clothes," Rose added. "For Boxing Day."

"We know," Zabini sighed, his breath congealing into a cloud. "Can you get your arse on that train so we can farewell you and get back up to the warmth of the castle?"

The train blew its whistle. Rose took a few steps back, her trunk trailing behind her. Albus poked his head out of the window to wave her down. It was time for her to go.

"Five days," Scorpius reminded her, "and then we'll be seeing you again."

"Alright. Five days. Send me an owl if anything goes wrong."

"Nothing will," they chorused, waving her off. Rose sprinted for Albus' carriage, yanked the trunk up the stairs, and the train began its slow move out of the station. Scorpius didn't move until the train was out of sight.

Five days.

"What's going on between you and Weasley?" Zabini frowned.

"Nothing. We're friends," Scorpius said just as candidly, twisting his scarf around his neck. He turned and headed away from the empty platform, nothing but the cloud of evaporating steam to remind them that the train had been there at all. The two goblin guards there glanced at them, but said nothing. They continued up the walkway, the wind tugging against their hair.

"Let's grab a coffee from the village," Zabini suggested, shivering slightly. "I'm not walking all the way back up to the school without something hot in my hands."

Scorpius nodded tiredly. They were not the only students that had come to wish their friends goodbye. Naomi Bones had decided to stay behind, and she had come down to see her boyfriend Dolt Wolton off. A few seventh years had come down under the pretence of wishing their friends off so they could drop into the village for last minute Christmas shopping. Most of the teachers were on the platform too.

As they wound their way off the platform and towards the village, Scorpius noticed something different. At first, he thought it was the lack of festive decorations. Usually, Hogsmeade looked like a snow globe. There was no brilliant lights or tinsel or icicles. In fact, the street looked stripped back and mundane.

But this was not what had forced him to stop. The entire village was covered in posters—Undesirable Posters. They showed Harry Potter and Victoire Weasley, face after face, sheet after sheet, but the wording on the posters had changed. The labels above their heads now read: DESIRABLE NO.1 and DESIRABLE NO.2. It had not been immediately obvious, but the moment Scorpius noticed it, he couldn't unnotice it.

"Merlin," he said quietly, staring at the posers. Goblins in their Ministry armour were moseying by or standing in shop fronts. There was no calamity, and no one tearing them down. Had they noticed? Or did the Elite Squad simply not care? "Let's get out of here," Scorpius decided, plucking at Zabini's robes. "We'll get you a coffee from the kitchens in Hogwarts."

* * *

Rose and Albus cringed into their seats. Ron, who was in the driver's seat, had not said a word for half an hour. They were out of London now, and without the sound of traffic, the silence was deafening. The back of the car had a tricky Undetectable Extension Charm that made it feel like a limousine. The three Potters kids were there as well, all unceremoniously quiet.

"Some warning would've been nice," Ron fumed.

"Well, you would've said _no_ if I warned you," Rose replied.

"Because—well—would you blame me? Don't any of you see how thick you're being? How can we have a Malfoy and a Zabini hanging around on Christmas with all the Order business going on?" Ron bellowed.

"It's Christmas, Dad, we shouldn't even have to _talk_ about the Order business," Hugo complained.

"Well—what about the wedding? Teddy and Victoire are getting married and we can't bloody have a bunch of Slytherin teenagers coming along when Victoire is supposed to be in _hiding_."

"Malfoy is trustworthy!" To Rose's surprise, this came from James Potter. "Zabini isn't, but Malfoy is."

"Zabini is trustworthy," Rose snapped. James snorted to express his derision. "And in any case," Rose added, her voice strained. "They're only staying for Christmas. Then they're going back to Hogwarts."

"Since when are Vic and Teddy getting _married_?" Albus exclaimed leaning against his seatbelt.

"Merlin, Dad! Do you really think I would befriend people who would sell us out?" Rose cried. "They're on _our_ side, alright? Just trust them!"

"But seriously," Albus interrupted, his voice still indignant. "Since _when_ are Vic and Teddy getting married? Didn't they _just_ get back together?"

"Had they ever really broken up, though?" Lily countered.

They drove the rest of the way to Devon in relative silence, with exception to Albus, who continually muttered, "Why am I always the person who is last to find out everything?"

The three-hour drive was tense, the country bouncing by the windows and the car doors squeaking. They broke the news to their father after they had packed their trunks in the car at King Cross, and he had been fuming since. No one really felt like talking. Hugo dosed on Lily's shoulder. Albus and James played a silent game of Spotto which involved shoving each other a lot. It was dark by the time hey neared the village, and as Ron seemed to have yelled himself hoarse for now, they all took this as a good sign.

* * *

The castle was near empty, the common room almost totally vacant. There were a couple of seventh years staying behind, but they exclusively lived in the library, desperately catching up on study and were rarely seen. Malfoy and Zabini were the only sixth year boys, and Alice Lim was the only sixth year girl so they found themselves sharing dinner together. Other than their immediate crew, Meredith Maxwell and her best friend Betty Fink had also chosen to stay behind together.

Over the first five days of holidays, the five of them occupied the sofas and armchairs closest to the fire and stayed up as late as they wanted. It was the closest thing to anarchy that the Slytherin hierarchy had ever allowed. It was giving the second year girls awfully big heads.

For instance, they would ask nosey questions like, "Where _were_ you all day today, Scorpius?" or "Why were you down near Hagrid's hut this afternoon, Scorpius," to which he would give variations of "it is none of your business." Scorpius was, in fact, splitting himself between his Potions projects and Rose's Christmas present, but that really was none of their business.

They would assault the others with similar questions, too. "How come you chose to stay at Hogwarts, Alice?" and "How come you always copy off other people's homework, Andy?" The replies were generally less polite from those two— _Sod off_ or _Call me Andy again and I'll hex you seven ways to Sunday_. But the girls only giggled and preened themselves and pretended to be far more mature than they really were.

But the girls grew on them. Alice braided Betty Fink's frizzy, red hair one night when they were all in the common room. When Scorpius was intrigued, she showed him how to do it and he spent half the evening practicing on Meredith's hair, doing French braids and fishbone braids and every other braid in between until he had mastered the method.

They played Christmas-themed question games, Zabini's favourite being, "If you had all the gold in the world, what would you get me for Christmas?"

They took turns answering the hypotheticals and seeing how well they could suit each other's tastes. For Alice, Scorpius would get her a personalised, one-on-one concert by the Ministry of Madness. Alice would get Meredith a sock to shove in her mouth to stop her incessant chattering—"an expensive sock, though!"—and Meredith would buy Betty Fink a unicorn, which received a chorus of groans from the sixth years. The rest unanimously agreed that they would give Zabini money outright, which he appreciated.

"Or," Malfoy said, crossing his legs to make himself more compact on the sofa. Zabini was sprawled across it and was taking up a lot of the room. "I would buy you a pub. And a house to live in on top of it."

"That's really nice. Cheers, Malfoy," Zabini grinned

Those first five days were a truly enjoyable Christmas holiday. There wasn't a benefit ball to dress up for, nor an opera to see, or a family dinner to sit through. Scorpius was left to his own devices. There was no pressure to perform. He could come and go as he pleased, and it was freedom.

He knew he would be meeting Rose's entire family in a mater of forty-eight hours, and he knew the feeling wouldn't last.

* * *

A few days before Christmas Eve, the Ministry of Magic was swathed in posters. Image upon image of indigenous propaganda, stuck to the walls and between people's office cubicles.

The Undesirable No. 1 posters had not had their slogan changed this time. Rather, their picture had been transfigured to show the Minister of Magic himself—his large elephant ears, wrinkled brow and grey suit. It was not a flattering photo either. The Minister looked aged, slightly manic, and the slogan above his head did match the visual descriptor of Undesirable. The words beneath Gladstone read: _Paranoid and Despotic. Approach with Caution. Wanted from Crimes Against Magical Humanity._ A group of maintenance wizards were trying to unstick them.

The plethora of posters stating that Harry Potter should be the Minister for Magic provided the utter contrast: Potter, with his familiar bespectacled face and lightening bolt scar, looked completely reasonable beside the Undesirable Posters of the Minister.

Hermione saw this on her way to work and felt her stomach tie itself into knots. She walked as quickly as she could through the Atrium, head ducked down and bushy hair flying. The Ministry uncharacteristically had very little Christmas decorations about. Ten minutes after arriving at her office, she was called down to the Basement, Level One, to meet with the Minister. She squared her shoulders and prepared for the worst.

She received worse than the worst. Creswell was there, glazed eyes and absent. Grigarex stood, agitated, by the door. The Minister of Magic had destroyed half of his office—he had upturned a side table, scattering parchment everywhere—he had blown up an expensive looking vase—he was in the process of tearing one Wanted poster to shreds when Hermione clicked the door shut behind her.

"Er, Merry Christmas, Minister," Hermione said. After all this time, it still felt difficult to keep the shaking from her voice.

A radio was perched in the corner of the room, much like the one installed in her kitchen, but it was turned low. Still, she was sure that the familiar rhythm of the news broadcasts was not coming from it, nor any catchy jingles. It sounded like voices…conversations. Too low to be heard. Rising and modulating casually, with the clinking sound of cutlery in the background.

Gladstone blustered for a few moments before he managed to get the words out. "Grr-Granger! If you are truly loyal to the Ministry, then it is high time that you _help_ us."

"With what, sir?" Hermione said, maintaining her cool tone.

Gladstone snorted with fury, inhaling one of the torn up pieces of the poster. He thrust the two halves at her. " _This_."

"Right," Hermione said, battering them away with her wand. "Well, it really just seems like a practical joke to me, Minister. I don't think there's any harm done with silly posters."

"Not any—not any harm—not any harm _done_?"

"This is a distraction to why I was called here," Grigarex said coolly, standing by the door now. "If you are pleased with my account, Minister, I will take my leave."

"I _am_ not pleased—you stay right there Grigarex!"

Creswell twitched slightly at the shouting but otherwise appeared to be completely spaced out. Hermione chewed her lip nervously.

"I have a duty to attend to the King as his advisor. With the miners rioting—"

"We must find whoever is doing this and prosecute them," Gladstone fumed, speaking right over the top of Grigarex. He turned back to Hermione now. His hands gripped the desk, thick and engorged. "It is an act of terrorism."

"No, it isn't," Hermione said slowly, still holding her wand at hip height. "It is an act of protest."

"Aha!" Gladstone cried, snapping his fingers at her. "I knew it! You are behind this."

" _Me_?"

"You—all you lot! You and your husband and the rest of you."

Hermione was really beginning to boil now. Her voice trembled with rage as she spoke. "You have no evidence to suggest that any of us are _involved_ —"

"I believe, according to my sources," Gladstone said, snatching up a handful of papers and filling through them rapidly, "that in your _first_ year of Hogwarts, you and your housemates created a poster that said _Potter for President_. Expressing the very same sentiments as you are now, weren't you?"

Hermione blinked at him in disbelief. Even Grigarex seemed embarrassed by this display.

"We were eleven. We made that for a Quidditch game—it cannot be remotely linked to—"

"And!" Gladstone continued, flipping through several other papers. "You were the one to start grassroots rebellion groups like Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare and Dumbledore's Army."

"You mean, the groups that helped to overthrow Elf-Slavery and Lord Voldemort." Hermione let out a high pitch laugh, unable to contain herself any longer. "I'm not sure what you're getting at, Minister."

"We are setting up Ministry of Magic Witch Watchers to monitor anyone involved in sticking up these posters. If I find that you or your family are behind this—or that you've gotten some elves from that ridiculous EARWIG movement to go and post these pictures up—or whatever it is you've done, then I will arrest all of you and have you prosecuted."

"I'm not involved in this!" Hermione cried, throwing her arms out wide. "Although, frankly, I now wish I was!"

There was a tense silence in which Gladstone's grey face churned with fury. Hermione blinked back at him, clutching her wand in case he was to attack her. Even Creswell, in his Imperius Curse fog, turned to see what would happen.

"Out," Gladstone whispered, his voice shaking. "Don't ever step into this building again."

* * *

"I've been fired," Hermione said, throwing a box of her belongings onto the kitchen counter and taking a seat at the table. Her husband, who was stunned to find her home so early in the afternoon, only blinked for a few minutes before retrieving a wine glass from the topmost cabinet.

"I'll make dinner tonight," he decided.

Hermione raised her glass, and he poured enough wine that it licked the rim. "I should add," she nodded towards the humming radio, "Gladstone will be watching us."

"Hasn't he been already?"

"He thinks we're responsible for those posters."

"Blimey," Ron muttered pouring himself a glass too. "Who _is_ responsible? I'd like to congratulate them."

"Let's just hope it's none of our clan," Hermione said. "If I found out this was the doing of Molly Weasley, I might actually have an aneurism."

Hugo entered the kitchen, picking up a wine glass from the bench and filling it as well. He turned to face his parents, leaning against the kitchen cabinets.

"What are we drinking to?" he asked.

Ron took the glass out of his son's hand and passed it to Hermione, who set aside her glass to drink the new one. She took several consecutive gulps before placing it on the table.

"Nothing worth celebrating, mate," Ron sighed.

* * *

Instead of his usual night-terrors, James found himself waking up sweaty and breathless from a dream he couldn't remember, and then finding it impossible to get back to sleep. This was happening so frequently that he would often crash around midday, sprawled across the sofa, too exhausted to pay attention to whatever was happening around the house.

In every other respect, he was flying high. Maybe it was the comfort of being back at home or the lack of homework related stress or even just the jolly, festive mood that Christmas brought—in any case, he was feeling at ease, even ecstatic at times. He spent the first week of holidays at the Scamanders' place, where he, Lorcan and occasionally Lysander would sit outside bird watching or muck around on their booms. In every way possible, Christmas had proved to be a distraction, and he was feeling like his old self again.

The holidays would be perfect if he could just get a good night's sleep.

Fed up with his tossing and turning, James crept from his bedroom, across the living room, and entered the kitchen. His toes curled on the cold tiles. He hopped across to the kitchen cabinets to retrieve some cereal, which he ate straight of the box, without milk, while sitting on the kitchen counter. The radio installed there—stuck to the counter's surface with a permanent sticking charm—was humming out a pre-recorded, monotonous tone.

" _The witches and wizards responsible for the defacement of the Undesirable posters will face severe…the goblin liaison office reassures the public that the strikes are …Gladstone met with the Goblin King to discuss the need for land reform, redistributing land occupied by predominantly magical-bodied creatures…"_

It went on and on, unceasing. James crunched and munched on his cereal, letting the words flow into his ear and out the other side. The light of their Christmas tree flashed and twinkled across the carpet of the living room, seen from where he sat on the kitchen counter top. It occurred to him how selfish and childish he had often been at Christmas time. His expectation of gifts and brilliant feasts. This time last year, he had blown all his savings paying off the interest on a dodgy shark loan, after getting nose-deep into debt. He thought of Claretta, being hunted by goblins after doing the exact same thing. They were greedy, stupid, thrill-seeking fools.

There were footsteps out in the corridor, creaking the familiar floorboards, and then a few moments later his mother was poking her head into the kitchen.

"Peckish, were we?" she asked, joining him in the kitchen.

"You betcha," he said, and then immediately found the irony in this.

His mother crossed to the counter, taking out a bowl and taking the cereal box from his hand so she could actually make herself a proper midnight snack. When she was done, she passed the box back to him. She set about this very casually, as if it were actually eight o'clock and they were preparing breakfast. He found it rather bizarre, not being questioned for his nocturnal habits. So bizarre that he was the one to ask, "Can't sleep?"

"Not a wink," she answered with a tired smile, drawing up a kitchen chair. "I heard you get up."

"Sorry."

"I was already awake," she excused, scooping up her cereal with a silver spoon. "I find it funny sleeping in an empty bed, even after all this time."

She stared at the icebox for a moment, as if intensely intrigued by it. "You know," she frowned, "Your dad used to work some very strange hours. But at some point in the night, he would come to bed. Whether it was three in the morning or six, right before I got up, he would fall into bed beside me and I would feel this sense of peace."

James watched her for a moment as she stared at the icebox absently. Her red hair was tied in a messy ponytail and she was in a pair of violet pyjamas. She looked dreadfully tired. It is always a startling moment to realise that you and your mother are both adults. Even if you are still her child, you are no longer a child.

"I can't sleep," James admitted, knowing that all along this is what his mother had followed him in here to hear. "I haven't slept properly in a while. Because of nightmares," he added, feeling ridiculously young. "But now I can't sleep at all."

Ginny nodded, stirring her cereal with her spoon. "I had the same sort of trouble after the Chamber of Secrets fiasco."

James raised his eyebrows to prompt her to go on. His mother sighed and placed the bowl on the table. The radio now hummed along in the background, practically ignored.

"I had some rather difficult nightmares after being possessed by Voldemort."

"Naturally," James said, matching her strange, casual tone.

"I found it hard to sleep for months. Especially that summer holidays."

James tugged at a loose string on his pyjama trousers. "How'd you deal with it?"

"I didn't," she shrugged. "I bottled it up and tried to keep myself busy. In my second year, I made friends with Luna and that helped a lot. I mean, we were both complete outcasts—she was this nutty dork and I was the girl who set a Basilisk on the school. But we got on. I stayed busy. It took me years before I could talk about what happened, though," she added. "Not until I was about fourteen. And I wouldn't say I was _over_ it. But I had learned to cope with it."

Ginny stood, slurping the contents of her cereal and putting the bowl in the sink, to be washed in the morning. She headed towards the kitchen and switched off the gas lamp. She leaned against the doorjamb and smiled tiredly at her son, the light of the Christmas tree dancing across her hair.

"It helped though, having someone like Luna. Someone who wasn't involved. I couldn't talk to your grandma and grandpa, not really. And I couldn't talk to any of your uncles either. I dunno why. Maybe to convince them I was fine, or to shield them from the pain that my pain would cause. But Luna was outside of it all, so she was different. And talking to her helped."

"Right," James nodded. He also got up off the counter. "I'm glad you had her then."

"Of course, now I'm having an affair with her husband," Ginny said, her face totally straight.

"Luna would probably be okay with an open relationship," James replied, just as stoically.

His mother smirked, her eyes lingering on James' freckled face. No longer thin and skinny, but squared and hard. No longer a boy's face. She wished him goodnight and headed out of the kitchen. James sighed heavily, reached to turn off the radio before remembering there was no off nob and then returned his cereal box to the cabinet.

He crept out of the kitchen, past the blinking Christmas tree, and down the corridor. However, he hesitated outside of his room and looked at the ajar door at the very end of the hallway. He slid inside, feet light on the floorboards. He slid into bed with his mother, tugging the blankets up to his chin, and they both fell asleep, her arm thrown over his broad back.

* * *

The first stirring that something was changing occurred on a Monday morning at Diagon Alley. The Undesirable posters lining the walls had all been gratified over, so that the image of Harry Potter, tweaking his glasses and blinking out at the average passer-by, was no longer headed with Undesirable No.1. Instead, the posters read, _Next Minister For Magic_.

Shop front after shop front, row after row, the Ministry-issued posters showed Harry winking and smiling and sighing under various political slogans singing of his former greatness. Each one called for him to be made the Minister For Magic. And although a few wizards and goblins scoffed or groaned or tore down the posters as they passed them, the majority of shoppers and business-keepers picked up their pace and kept their heads down. Occasionally, a person would smile slyly at the wanted-posters-turn-propaganda.

"I swear it wasn't me," George said, raising both hands. His younger brother, Ron, rested against the counter of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, which was crowded with small honking contraptions that made a sound whenever Ron opened his mouth to speak. It just seemed like something George _might_ have done, reminiscent of the U-No-Poo gimmick of his youth. "It was a bloody good idea, though," he acknowledged.

"Well, whoever is doing it will be in a hell of a lot of trouble when they're caught," Ron said, but whatever else he had to add was lost under the honking of a small, muggle rubber duck on the counter.

George lowered his voice to no more than a mutter, leaning forward to speak to Ron. "I guess the tides are turning. People are beginning to miss Harry."

"One person bewitching wanted posters does not count for a tide turning," Ron replied sternly. He ran a hand over his face and sighed. "Anyway, I'm only here to do some Christmas shopping."

"To think, I was under the impression you came for a friendly visit," George grinned, walking around the counter and ushering him to his newest stock. "Got everything you need, from colour-changing Pygmy Puffs to a state-of-the-art Snowstorm Creator. You lot are hosting Christmas this year, aren't you?"

Ron peered at the flashy boxes and nodded tiredly. "Yep. Got an extra two guests too." He proceeded to fill George in on the two Slytherin boys staying in their house, much to his brother's amusement.

"Blimey. Zabini and Mafloy hanging out with the Weasleys? This has to be a first."

"Mind you, they're not entirely bad. But once a Malfoy, always a Malfoy. Right?"

"Right," George agreed, passing a small purple box into Ron's hand. "Put that in his pudding and we'll sort him out for good."

Ron was highly tempted, turning the mysterious purple box over, before returning it to his brother. "Nah, Hermione will kill me."

He finished up the Christmas shopping, argued with George about a discount that he didn't get, and hurried back into the windy gale ripping through Diagon Alley. Still, as he hurried to the Leaky Cauldron, he couple help but smile slyly at the flapping posters of Harry, each of them reading _Next Minister For Magic._

* * *

It began snowing on Christmas Eve. Hogwarts had already been blanketed in a thick sheet of snow, but Devon had not had the snow stick right up until the day before Christmas. It layered the ground and turned the hilly landscape into a white, desert tundra. By Christmas morning, everything had frozen over, turning the trees into glittery ornaments.

It was around ten in the morning when Scorpius and Zabini left the castle and travelled down to the Three Broomsticks to floo to the Weasley's living room, their permission slips in their pockets. Scorpius did not need his parent's signature, as he was already seventeen. Zabini, of course, had forged his permission slip.

There was a certain amount of nerves between them and they squabbled about who would go first. Unsurprisingly, it was Malfoy.

"See you in a minute," Zabini said, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder. Scorpius rolled his eyes. He stepped into the fireplace with a handful of green powder and thought of his destination.

"The Weasley Bungalow!"

He arrived with an explosion of soot and an explosion of colour. The Weasley's living room had been decorated so thoroughly it looked like a Christmas card had vomited on it. There was an enormous evergreen conifer crammed into the corner, and it was so large its topmost branches scrapped the roof. Paper chains that shone from blue to purple hung across the ceiling in great, tangled webs. The sofa was adorned with overstuffed green and red cushions and the floor was crowded with gifts. It was all a lot to take in. But, front and centre, big grins across their faces, were Rose and Hugo Weasley in matching red and green jumpers.

"Finally," Hugo cried, grabbing Scorpius' arm and pulling him out of the fireplace. The enthusiasm was startling. Rose grabbed his trunk, and just in time too, for Zabini appeared in its place a moment later.

The house smelt good—something was cooking—but before anyone could comment on this, Hermione Granger emerged from the kitchen. Her hands were in her bushy hair as she pulled it back into a ponytail. Like the overwhelming riot of colour, Hermione assaulted the boys with a storm of hospitality.

"It's lovely to see you again, Scorpius. And this must be André Zabini," Hermione said warmly. "Would you like any tea? Help yourself, everything's on the coffee table. You can pop your things upstairs in the study, Ron has set up a couple of camp beds in there so you can stay the night."

She was already walking across the room, past the staircase, towards a room on the lower floor. She spoke over her shoulder the entire time. "I'll be putting an Undetectable Extension Charm on this room, so I'll need you all to clear out for a few minutes. But head along into the backyard, the Potters are already there."

Both the Slytherins stood there, blinking rapidly.

"Er, I suppose we should…" Zabini trailed off, raising the bag. Hugo took it from him. "I'll put your bags upstairs. Go ahead outside and I'll catch up with you."

Rose smiled and patted her brother's head as he played lackey. Privately, Scorpius wondered how she had bribed him to respond so obediently. He and Zabini followed Rose out the back door into the chilly morning air. The Potter siblings were certainly present. James was waving his wand like a baton, conjuring up snowmen from the white powdery ground. Lily was shoving stick arms into one of the snowmen when the three Slytherins arrived at the top of the porch.

"All hail the Snakes," James called, giving his wand a final flourish before tucking it into his pocket. He looked far better rested than he had been in weeks. There was a clatter from a shed on the far right, and a moment later Albus Potter emerged with a broom in hand, cawing with excitement. He dropped the broom and raced over to the porch, almost slipping, before throwing his arms around Scorpius' neck.

"The lovers reunite," Zabini sighed. "What's with the snowmen?"

He approached James, who was eyeing Zabini with some caution, before Lily jumped in with the explanation of what a family snowball fight consisted of. In the meantime, Scorpius interrogated both Rose and Albus.

"The rest of your family _knows_ I'll be here, right? They will all be attending tonight's dinner?"

"I wouldn't fret about it," Albus replied candidly.

"He's memorised our family tree," Rose told Albus.

Albus turned away, as if he couldn't take this piece of information. "Don't even."

"Both your matriarchal and patriarchal lines," Scorpius replied, his voice empty of emotion. He could tell that Albus wasn't sure whether he was joking. Well, Scorpius _wasn't_. He had memorised their family tree.

"Are we having a snowball game, or what?" James called, throwing his hands up. Rose and Albus linked their arms through Scorpius' and dragged him down the porch steps. His boots sunk into the snow.

They broke up into team. James insisted on being a leader, as did Rose, and they chose their members accordingly. Rose took Albus, Zabini and Malfoy. James took Hugo and Lily. Having Scorpius on the team was somewhat a casualty, as he had never participated in a snowball fight before. Rose had him build a fort behind the tire swing tree while she talked strategy. The rules were whoever got to the porch first won, and they had to get there without getting hit by a snowball. If you were hit, you returned to the base and started over.

Surprisingly, it was Lily and Hugo who dominated on the ground. They worked like a well-oiled machine—Hugo creating perfectly round snowballs which Lily then threw with missile-precision. They were hiding behind the tool shed, which was further away from the porch, then the tire swing tree, but gave a better scope of the garden. Every time any of Rose's team tried to get around the tree they were plummeted with snowballs. With Lily ad Hugo as his defence mechanism, James had already managed to sneak up to the garden bed.

"We need to get Lily," Albus seethed. "Her aim is deadly."

"Once we cut them off we'll get Rose to the porch."

"Leave it to me," Zabini promised, ducking low and sprinting around the circumference of the garden. Several snowballs were lobbed at his head, but they missed. He disappeared from sight.

Rose was shaking her head wildly now, as she aimed snowball after snowball at James. Albus was manufacturing them as fast as he could.

"I shouldn't be the runner," Rose said. "I'm not quick enough. Get Scorpius."

"We may only have one shot at this," Albus warned.

Scorpius was panicky. "I can't do it! I've never had a snowball fight before!"

"Sad," Albus agreed. "Tragic even."

Rose ducked around the tree, but the moment she was past the tire swing, one of Lily's snowballs hit her right in the jaw. She retreated behind the tire again.

"All you have to do is run to the porch without getting hit. Think of the snowballs like Bludgers."

"Usually _you're_ there to beat away the bludgers."

"Just _go_ ," Rose whispered. "Go!" she yelled, much more loudly, and not for him.

There was a squeal on the far right that could only belong to Lily. Rose and Albus gave Scorpius a push and he went sliding out from behind their base, sprinting low towards the porch. Rose and Albus were behind him, his back up, plummeting James with snowballs. Two of James' snowballs skimmed the top of his wavy blond hair without a proper hit before James was taken out and had to return to the shed. Scorpius kept running. He reached the top of the porch steps and swung onto it, heart pounding. He raised his skinny arms above his head, triumphant. It had happened in less than ten seconds.

Rose and Albus whooped, jumping up and down, their feet crunching the snow. Zabini had grabbed Lily around the waist and thrown her over his shoulder, explaining where the squealing had come from. He had used his free hand to upend a bucket filled with snow onto Hugo's head. His curls were covered in the chilly white powder, which fell onto his coat as he shook out his hair. James had his hands on his hips, shaking his head at the others, as if he were suddenly the responsible parent in the debacle.

For the first time, Scorpius truly understood what they meant by a Weasley-Potter Christmas being a spiritual experience. Snow was beginning to fall again, soft and too wet to stick. Zabini placed Lily on her feet under the tire tree, where she proceeded to throw snowball after snowball at him. Rose and Albus had jumped onto James' back and tackled him into the fine, two inches of powder.

James struggled to get out from under the human pyramid he had formed the base of and was dusting off his jeans with his mitten-clad fingers. He faced Scorpius, who shrunk down to the bottom step of the porch.

"Best of three," James decided.

* * *

As much as Scorpius had _enjoyed_ the snowball fights, he was beginning to crave a fireside cup of cocoa.

They took a break from hurling icy missiles at each other, Albus insisting that these 'preliminary rounds' hardly counted compared to the matches between the entire family. Instead, they set about finding a gnome to put on top of the Christmas tree, which was apparently a Weasley tradition. Zabini was offered the honours of pinning down a gnome, which he took on eagerly.

Rose moseyed up beside Scorpius, bumping her shoulder against his. "Alright there?"

"Positively grand," he replied, staring out at the garden. Rose leaned her arm against his. The contact in their current surroundings made him blush. He leaned away. "We need to be discreet."

"Discretion is my middle name," Rose winked. "Rose Discretion Weasley. _Still_ better than both Hyperion and Severus."

Scorpius laid a hand over his heart, as if he was mortally wounded by the comment. He retreated towards the back door. "I might head in for a bit. Your mum might want help with that Extension Charm."

Rose raised her eyebrows. "You're rubbish at charms. Have you even cast an Extension Charm before?"

"No," Scorpius admitted, a bit keen, "but I would _love_ to see her do it."

"Alright," Rose assented, smirking a little as Zabini took a dive and collided with the garden shed. "We'll catch up in a bit once we've caught ourselves a gnome."

Scorpius headed back into the living room, discretion the last thing on his mind, and was surprised to find that the Extension Charm had already been taken care of. The room was now double the size—the sofa had been pushed aside and two long tables were set up down the middle. Red napkins were rolling themselves into fancy designs and lining themselves down the placemats. Hermione Granger was no longer in the room, though. Instead, Ron Weasley was wrestling with the enormous conifer, all its ornaments jingling while pine needles rained down on top of his ginger-grey hair.

"Er, Mr Weasley?" Scorpius tried, coming around the other side of the tree. Ron Weasley flinched at his voice. He did not disentangle with the Christmas tree. Instead, he muttered _bloody thing won't stand up straight_ and pretended Scorpius wasn't there. Still, the awkwardness was palpable and Scorpius could not ignore it. "Would you, er…like some help?"

Ron grunted in reply, clearly avoiding having to agree or even speak directly to Scorpius, but also in no position to refuse. Scorpius used his wand to straighten the tree's spine, and then used another spell to balance the weight of the tree's base so it would stand stock-still.

"How'd you do that?" Ron demanded, taking a few steps back and shaking the needles out of his red hair.

"Er, I use that spell on our Crackling Crab Apple Trees so they grow straight," Scorpius said, feeling ridiculously foolish. "It also works on hedges."

Ron nodded slowly, begrudgingly impressed. The top of the tree bent like a fishing rod, forced against the ceiling. "Should've trimmed it first," Ron muttered.

"I can…erm, I mean, I could do that if you like."

"Well," Ron said, tempted to agree. "If you _want_ to."

A little while after, Hermione returned from upstairs, a box of decorations floating at wandpoint. She cried out in indignation when she saw Scorpius standing precariously on a stool, using his wand to slice the top of the tree.

"What are you doing, Scorpius? You'll fall and get hurt—"

"It's fine, Ms Granger. I trim the hedges at our place all the time."

"Please, call me Hermione," she said, putting down the box. "And honestly, you don't have to—"

"He offered," Ron replied, returning to the room with a few mugs of tea. "Let the boy prune the tree if he wants to, Hermione."

"Ron, he is our _guest_."

"Our other guest is out there in the snow trying to pin a gnome to the ground," Ron said sipping his tea. "So I think Scorpius chose the more dignified way to help."

Scorpius didn't say anything to this. He kept his back to both of them and continued to clip the tree until it no longer touched the ceiling. Still, he was pleased to hear Rose's father refer to him by his first name and not his last. When he was finished, he carefully clambered off the stool. Just as his feet touched the floorboards, he heard Hugo call, "He's got it!"

* * *

The tree was now properly in order, the roast was in the oven, the table was decorated with Christmas Cracker Bon-Bons and all was well. The children sat about one of the tables, drinking hot chocolate and waiting excitedly for the rest of the guests to arrive.

The first people to make it—several hours early—were Teddy Lupin and Victoire Weasley. It was no surprise they were the first to arrive either. Victoire was swathed in an Invisibility Cloak, which Teddy took off her the moment they were through the door, pretending he was performing a muggle magic trick. Clearly, extracting her from wherever it was she was hiding had been quite a task. He threw the Cloak over one arm—causing it to vanish—and explained to James Potter (who had answered the door) that he needed to head right back to headquarters to return the Cloak to his father and was really rather in a rush to leave.

He then stood, gobsmacked, to see a Malfoy sitting at the neatly set dinning table.

" _Well,_ " Teddy said, sweeping around his god-brother and thumping a hand against the table. "This one clearly doesn't belong to us."

"No," Scorpius agreed, fidgeting.

"If it isn't Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. My old foe and comrade."

"Are you being intentionally paradoxical?"

"Are you being intentionally a prat?" Teddy replied, taking the seat opposite him.

His hair was not blue, as it usually was. Instead, it was green, with the tips a frosted white, giving him a striking resemblance to a Christmas tree.

"How is it you find yourself in the Weasley Bungalow?"

"He was invited," Zabini said. "As was I."

"A complete stranger," Teddy said, nodding towards Zabini. "Gone were the days where I recognised the relatives at our own family functions."

Victoire Weasley came to their rescues at that moment, taking the Invisibility Cloak and shaking it over Teddy's head. "You were in a rush, weren't you?"

"Indeed, I was," Teddy said, taking the Cloak. "I'll be back in ten minutes."

"Please, take your time," Victoire sighed.

Teddy scooped up the Cloak and scooted out of the way, but not before cornering Rose by the door. She blinked at him steadily, her face turning pink under his knowing gaze.

"Malfoy's here," he said quietly, as if she may not have noticed.

"So is Zabini," she said evenly.

"But Zabini isn't your secret boyfriend," Teddy whispered. "So I would be careful."

"You promised not to say a thing," she hissed as he opened the door.

Teddy mimed himself zipping up his lips, locking them with a key and then throwing the key over his shoulder. When Rose went to warn him further, he only pointed at his tightly pressed lips and shrugged before slipping out the door. With a heavy sigh, she returned to the table.

The moment Teddy was out the door, everyone fell upon Victoire to hail her with congratulations. Lily practically propelled herself into her cousin's arms. For a good few seconds, she looked utterly stunned, as if she thought she was being congratulated for finally leaving the house. It took her a moment to cotton on.

"Right, the wedding," she said, prying Lily's arms from round her neck. "Merlin, I forgot."

"You forgot about your own wedding?" Albus snorted.

"I forgot people cared," Victoire corrected, rolling her eyes.

Scorpius did not really _know_ Victoire, but like all the Weasleys, he was familiar with her. _Her_ , especially, for she had often been in the society pages of Isabella's magazines. She was leggy, athletic and blonde, with veela looks and fame to her name. She had been splashed across the papers both by paparazzi and her own merits as a reporter. However, her face was most familiar from the wanted posters he had grown accustomed of seeing. She was a whistle-blower. A rebel. Everything Scorpius feared and admired.

She took the seat beside him. "I hope you're not going to sell me out," she said to the two Slytherins.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Zabini replied, shuffling Hugo's deck of cards. "Now, who wanted to play a round of Exploding Snap?"

This arrested the other's attention thoroughly, but Scorpius remained on the periphery, watching instead. Victoire smiled at him weakly. Because neither of them was participating, this somehow put them on par.

"I'm assuming you're both friends with Rose?" she said. She nodded towards Zabini, who was snapping his hand over's Lily's. "You and that kid?"

"Zabini," he clarified. "And yes."

Victoire smirked a little, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Do you usually have big family Christmases at the Malfoys?"

"Er, no."

"Well…prepare yourself. The Weasley clan like to get involved in everyone else's business. I would know," she added, raising her eyebrows.

Scorpius decided he would excuse himself at that moment, perhaps because he was beginning to sweat at the notion of being interrogated by the Weasley family collectively. He made his excuse and slipped away from the table, entering the kitchen instead, looking for a little refuge.

"Who's arrived? They always show up early," Hermione complained. The radio was, mercifully, playing a jazzy Christmas song. The stream of news had been haltered. The kitchen was better for it. It was crammed with food, dishes upon dishes that had been prepped all morning. Scorpius walked over to the sink and began peeling potatoes while Hermione drizzled olive oil in a pan. "I always tell them to come at one and yet..."

"It must be a Weasley thing," Scorpius said, peeling the potatoes by hand. Hermione Granger jumped and turned around. Naturally, with her back turned, she had assumed she was talking to one of her own children. She smiled apologetically.

"Oh Scorpius, you surprised me. What do you mean, a Weasley thing?"

"Rose showed up early to my New Year's party last year," Scorpius remarked, putting the potatoes in the pan. "Well, she showed up _right_ on time. To the minute. She was the first to arrive."

"Oh, well, that was probably _my_ fault," Hermione admitted. She began spicing the vegetables. She did not cook with magic. He had noticed this throughout the morning. She had used her wand to stir the sauce and get the pot's temperature right, but never used it to prep. He, too, enjoyed cooking the muggle way. There was method to it. "You don't need to help out, Scorpius. You're our guest."

The hubbub beyond the kitchen was growing steadily louder. He could hear Rose's voice rise and fall, abrupt and bubbly, like the sauce on the stove. Her mother turned around, bumping the oven door shut with her hip. "What is Christmas like with your family?" she asked kindly.

She asked everything kindly. It always left him feeling a bit flustered. Rose was never this genial.

"It's, er, nice I suppose. Just dinner with the immediate family."

"I suppose this will be quite different," she smiled, taking off her oven mitts. The jazzy Christmas number was wrapping up. "You really ought to go and enjoy yourself."

"I—" he frowned, blinking at her warm, brown eyes. She was the very essence of maternity. It was confronting. Scorpius cleared his throat. "I don't do well in crowds," he stated.

"So, go find a nice nook in the sofa and hang about someone you like," Hermione encouraged. "No need to mingle, really."

No need to mingle. He told himself this as he ducked out of the kitchen door, but he really didn't seem to have a choice. The room had filled up considerably. Not only were the Potters there, but the rest of Victoire's family had arrived—her brother, sister _and_ parents. Roxanne Weasley and her family were there too—others that he recognised by face. He knew that this wasn't even half of them.

Scorpius slipped past the group, the heat in his face, making a beeline for the staircase. If only he could find Rose and Albus, he might be able to escape somewhere quiet for a little while. Work up some courage.

Instead of finding his friends, he bumped into someone who—at first—did not look in any way related to the rest of the family. The woman was in her early twenties, with bleached blonde hair that was almost as fair as his own. She did not look festive; she was almost entirely in black, including even her fingernails, and she was sucking absently on the end of a candy cane. He hastily went through the family tree in his head. This was the only Weasley cousin that he did not know or had never seen, which meant she had to be the elusive Molly Weasley.

Molly raised her eyes, her lips popping on the end of the candy cane. "So it's true," Molly mused. "Ferret Junior has come to steal Christmas."

Scorpius took a sharp breath and turned to walk away. Molly spoke up quickly. "That was me being amicable," she said. "If anyone here is unlikely to judge you, it's me. I'm all for not judging books by covers."

Scorpius turned back to her, chewing the inside of his lip sceptically. "How does my cover sell me?"

Molly considered him under her clear-framed spectacles. "Spoilt, pampered, pretentious and raised to harbour the quiet elitism of your parents," she said, unblinkingly.

"You hit the nail on the head."

Molly smirked. She bit off the end of the candy cane so it crunched under her teeth. "I think there's a lot more to you than that, Ferret boy. Let me guess. You have always had a complex to prove yourself and a desperate need to remain impartial."

"Let _me_ guess," Scorpius said, some of his confidence coming back. "You bleached your hair blonde so you could be set apart from all your red-head cousins, and you've always had a desperate need to rebel in order to assert your freedom."

Someone whistled behind him. "He has you pegged."

Scorpius turned sharply. It was Roxanne's older brother, Fred. In all his life, he had never spoken to Scorpius. Now, he was giving him a diffident smile. "You better go find some better company, Malfoy. Molly is inhumanly cruel."

"I'm amicable," she insisted. "And he's hard to read." She nodded towards Scorpius, her dark eyes intent.

Fred offered Scorpius a candy cane, which he took before leaving.

He walked swiftly through the room. There was a _lot_ of red heads, and he and Molly were the only ones that stood out—unlike her, it was not by his choice. The doorbell rang. _More_ people were to arrive. A few heads turned his way as he pushed past them. He needed to be somewhere small and quiet and perfectly contained. He walked straight into the laundry and shut the door behind him.

The laundry was clouded with smoke and freezing cold. It was also where he found André Zabini with Roxanne Weasley.

"What're you two doing in here?" he snapped, leaning against the folded up ironing board and taking in deep breaths.

Zabini had cracked one of the windows open and was holding a lit cigarette out of it. Roxanne was standing by him, wearing a red beanie that slouched over her dark curls.

"Chatting," Roxanne offered. "Molly's being a pain in the arse, so I'm waiting for the Finnigans to arrive so Rowan can get her act half decent—"

"Put that out," Scorpius barked at Zabini. "It's disgusting. _And_ disrespectful to smoke in somebody else's home."

His heart was pounding so hard now that he was finding it hard to focus. _Neither_ of them were grasping what was happening. In fact, both Zabini and Roxanne rolled their eyes at his reaction, even though Zabini relented, tossing the cigarette out the window. He drew his wand to dissolve the smoke.

"You need to loosen up, Malfoy," Roxanne remarked, giving him a little punch in the shoulder. "This is supposed to be fun. Isn't that why you're spending the holidays here?"

"Get Rose," he said quietly. It felt as if he was breathing through a straw. He began to massage his sternum.

"Why'd you need—"

"Go find either Albus or Rose _now_ and send them in here," he shouted.

He closed his eyes and leaned against the ironing board. The candy cane was still gripped in his left hand. They would all think he was some sort of fool, an out of place charity case. Or worse…they would think he was the son of a Death Eater. He was usually so good at controlling his breathing, controlling his emotions. This was the very worst place to have a breakdown.

He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder and opened his eyes. Rose was standing in front of him, her blue eyes sharply focused. "What's the matter?"

"Someone's hexed me, I think," he panted, shaking a little. "My heart is racing."

Albus stepped up beside Rose, also frowning at Scorpius. Rose grabbed Scorpius' thin wrist and pressed her fingers against it.

"You're having an anxiety attack," Albus said slowly. "Focus on taking deep breaths. You're safe, everyone here likes you and there's no need to be worried about their opinions." He turned to Rose, who was still pressing her fingers against Scorpius' wrist. "Do you even know how to take someone's pulse?"

"No," Rose admitted, withdrawing her hand. "I think I should cast a Cheering Charm."

The panic Scorpius had been feeling reared up like a tidal wave. He started so violently he almost knocked over the ironing board. " _No_. No Cheering Charms."

"It'll help you calm down," Rose said, taking his shoulder again.

"No! I don't want to be under the—the—the _influence_ of a Charm when I meet your entire family."

"Albus is _great_ at Cheering Charms. He won't over do it."

"I agree, I think it'll help," Albus added, drawing his wand.

"I'm perfectly _fine_ , thanks," Scorpius said. "I'm relaxed, now, see? Honestly, if I were any more relaxed, I'd be in a comatose state."

* * *

When Scorpius, Albus and Rose emerged five minutes later from the laundry, Scorpius was far calmer than he had been upon entering it. He was so relaxed that his entire body felt a bit too loose. He wasn't ever one to grin, but he couldn't help the pleased, smug smile that stretched his cherub lips tight cross his face.

Zabini and Roxanne were waiting on either side of the laundry door like body guards, and the moment the trio emerged, they converged about him.

"Feeling better?" Roxanne asked.

"Frankly, I'm feeling better than I have in my entire life," Scorpius said, patting her shoulder.

"Cheering Charm," Albus added in an undertone. "Just the one."

The room was packed with people of all ages, most familiar by face even if Scorpius had never interacted with them before. James Potter was weaving throughout them with an arm over Lorcan's shoulders. "Well, we have enough people to play a proper snowball fight. Are we going to do it before dinner, or what?"

"Alright," Rowan Finnigan agreed, getting to his feet. "As long as I'm _not_ on Molly's team."

"You slick prat," Molly huffed, also getting to her feet. "You know I'll finish you off if you're against me."

James was already half way through the back door, his wand out, Transfiguring the army of snowmen he had built earlier in the day. They all sprung to life, and there was something quite menacing about their flat, rock-shaped eyes. Scorpius nervously said he might sit out the first round, but half a dozen Weasley's grabbed hold of him and dragged him into the back garden.

"Ferret's love the snow. C'mon Malfoy."

* * *

Chilled from the snow and aching from laughter, Albus and Scorpius decided to sit out the final snowball fight, instead creeping up to the porch to watch. A few others had pulled out the round before, either because it was too cold or they were sick of being plummeted by the army of snowmen. James and Lily were really in their element this time.

Scorpius watched Albus as his green, smiling eyes darted from the faces of his family members to his friends. He wrapped an arm around Scorpius' shoulder.

"We're not a bad bunch, are we?" he asked.

"You're all brilliant," Scorpius acknowledged, looking at them all. He watched Zabini and Rose corner Angus Finnigan, lobbing snowball's from behind so he was forced to retreat to the base once more. Rose whooped, jumping onto Zabini's back and laughing. Albus squinted at them both, some of the warmth leaving his eyes.

Scorpius spoke in a careful, low voice. "You don't like having Zabini here, do you?"

"I wouldn't say he's my favourite person," Albus replied genially, wrapping his coat around him more tightly. "But I don't _dislike_ him."

"Even though he kissed Imogen?" Scorpius tried, watching Albus carefully.

"I'm not Imogen's father," Albus scolded, glancing over his shoulder peevishly. "It's none of my business who kisses her."

"Right. But you're friends."

"Exactly. Friends. _Mates_. I'm not going to tell her who she can and cannot snog."

"He also snogged your ex-girlfriend while she was still dating you," Scorpius pointed out. In fact, Scorpius would be willing to bet he did more than snog her.

Here, Albus paused and actually turned around to assess Zabini, where he was now tugging on a hat with large elf ears attached to it. He was examining his reflection in the mirror, looking pleased with himself, while Rose browsed a rack of donated clothes. They were chatting in low voices.

"He did," Albus allowed slowly. "But I needed a reason to break up with her. He did me a bit of a favour."

It seemed as if Albus was determined to see the very best in people, something that Scorpius found highly amusing. He laughed a little and leaned the wooden panels of the porch. His reaction finally got Albus' attention, and he turned with a bit of a curious look in his eyes.

"Do you _want_ me to hate Zabini?"

"I just find it amusing that you don't dislike _anyone_ ," Scorpius drawled, smirking now.

"I dislike people!"

"Who?"

Albus paused to think, almost comically stumped for an example. "Er…I dislike Gladstone."

"Someone you actually _know_ ," Scorpius insisted.

Again, Albus went quiet, thinking hard. He stroked a pair of leather gloves as he thought about it. Finally, he said, "I dislike Nathan Corner."

"Everyone dislikes Nathan Corner," Scorpius dismissed. "I mean someone you _really_ dislike. Someone you cannot stand."

Albus tossed the gloves aside, exasperated now. He shook his head a little. "I like everyone, okay? I am too nice for my own good."

This was the answer Scorpius had been looking for. He smirked, bumping his shoulder against Albus. "Truly, it's a shock that you weren't in Huffle—"

Albus held up a hand, silencing his slight. His head turned over his shoulder, dark brows drawn together. Scorpius stopped too. The sound of everyone's cheering and exclamations and snow hitting parkers and fabric took precedence for a moment, followed by two very low voices. The laundry window backed up to the porch, and it was still cracked slightly open from where Zabini had been smoking out of it.

"Harry isn't going to make it tonight."

"You're joking—he _promised_ —"

" _Whisper_ , Ron, honestly. He's taking the patrol—Luna offered but he wanted it."

It was Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. They, too, seemed to use the laundry to argue.

"Is this about those posters?"

"Of course not. He's just…"

"Avoiding us?"

"It'll happen soon enough. I think he wanted to do it before Christmas, but the wedding…"

"Right. We don't want another funeral before…"

"Well, we don't want another funeral, full stop."

Albus frowned towards the window, then turned to face the snowball fight again, the serious expression still tight on his face. He patted Scorpius' chest and moved to stand. Scorpius caught his arm, holding him there.

"Have you seen your father these holidays?" he asked.

Albus shrugged him off. He gave Scorpius a tired smile, one that wasn't entirely genuine. "I can tell you one thing, mate," he said, adamantly avoiding the question. "After school last year, I _really_ disliked my father. Really. I'm sure you remember that. So, don't say I like everyone."

He pushed his way back into the house and Scorpius let him go, some of his concern rubbing against his contentment.

* * *

But bad news aside, Scorpius could not help but feel delighted. The feeling only intensified when it was two-thirty in the afternoon, and the forty or so guests settled into the crammed dinning tables like clockwork. The food was intense. Baked potatoes, roast beef with Yorkshire puddings, honey roast carrots, Brussels sprouts and of course, the roast turkey in the centre. Rose was almost salivating. The food was home-cooked and heavy with freshly made gravy and warm bread rolls. It was a feast for the eyes as well as the palette.

The tables were separated into the "oldies" and the younger crowd, conveniently situating Scorpius between Rose and Albus. They were packed in so tight, every time he moved his elbows to cut his roast, he would bump Rose in the ribs. People ate boisterously, passing dishes and yelling over one another until the volume rivalled The Great Hall. He and Zabini, as guests, were starry eyed. Zabini had never seen so much food with exception to Hogwarts' banquets, and Scorpius had never seen such an eclectic mix of company.

James' insistence to rehash the memory of Draco Malfoy The Amazing Bouncing Ferret over lunch happened to save the day.

"You've heard this one, haven't you, Malfoy?" James grinned, picking up a sandwich.

"The Amazing Bouncing Ferret?" he ascertained.

"Yes, yes. It features your old man," James said, grinning twitchily. "So, picture this. Fourth year. The legendary Mad Eye Moody is teaching at Hogwarts—"

"It was actually Barty Crouch Jr. in disguise," Lily piped up.

"Please stop ruining my brilliant storytelling with inane details," James said, silencing his sister with a wave of his hand. She crossed her arms surlily. "So, your dad was there being a git and making fun of Harry's dead mum. Harry gives his usual sassy quip in return and goes to leave."

"Ah, yes," Albus sighed wistfully. "Dad's sassy quips are a theme throughout all of his youth."

The conversation had gotten a few of the adult's attention. Ron Weasley was peering over at them from where he was speaking to his older brother, George. Albus' mother, Ginny, had also paused mid conversation to listen in.

"Then," James continued, raising both hands for suspense, "While his back was turned, your dad tries to hex him."

"Typical Slytherin," Zabini approved, nodding. "That's what I would do."

"Of course, Moody sees this underhand attack and goes absolutely mental. He charges in on his limpy, wooden leg and points his wand at Malfoy and—"

Ron let out a deep chuckle. Everyone turned to look at him at the adult's table one over. He grinned—and Scorpius noticed that it was Rose's big goofy grin, stretching from freckled cheek to cheek—and finished the story with relish. "And he Transfigures him into this white ferret, bouncing him around the bloody courtyard like a basketball. I could have wet myself for laughing."

" _Ron_ ," Hermione scolded, glancing at Scorpius.

But Scorpius was relieved; for these were the first words Ron had spoken to Scorpius without scorn.

"It was a bloody spectacle, Hermione. Even _you_ loved it."

"It certainly explains my father's distaste for ferrets," Scorpius added nervously, appealing to Ron's better nature. "Of course, he has a similar loathing for Hippogriffs."

At this, Ron _really_ began to laugh, grabbing his wife's arm. "Remember the Hippogriff thing, Hermione? Remember when he went around the castle pretending he couldn't use his bloody arm? Merlin, that wimp."

If Scorpius had to throw his dad under the bus in order to gain Ron Weasley's favour, he would do it. At the end of the day, he needed to attain this man's approval through whatever means necessary. Rose rolled her eyes at her boyfriend, but he knew what he was doing.

This triggered a great rehashing of stories, anecdote after anecdote. Some were told by the adults— _remember the time Luna commentated a Quidditch match, she said that Zacharias Smith was suffering from Loser's Lurgey—oh yes, and I quite think he was, too—oh, not as good as the time Fred and George set up a swamp in the school to get to Umbridge—that was brilliant, wasn't it?_ Others, were told by the youngest members at the party.

"Remember that time you made the toilet in the girl's dorm regurgitate so much—"

" _Thank_ you, Teddy," Victoire cut in smoothly, placing her hands around his mouth to silence him. She looked to the others. "Remember when Dominique fell into the Black Lake and Hagrid had to dive in to get her?"

"I was in _first_ _year_!" Dominique cried, her face going bright red. "Give me a break!"

"Not as good as the time James lost a bet and one of his Three Dares was to fly around the Quidditch pitch stark nude."

Lorcan barked out a laugh, thumping James on the back, who did not look the least bit embarrassed. He threw out his chest pompously. "Almost certain that's the reason McGonagall retired."

This then got everyone started on Quidditch, a conversation that dominated the table for twenty minutes.

"I'm just grateful that I never had to play against Rose during my time on the Quidditch team," Fred scoffed, motioning towards his younger cousin with a chicken drumstick. "I don't envy you lot."

"Lorcan was supposed to lead us into greatness," James agreed, thumping his friend on the back. "But we're all doubting him now that Slytherin have beaten us two years in a row."

"We wouldn't have won without you last year," Scorpius said, raising a glass.

"And we'll never let you forget it," Lorcan replied, toasting him back.

"Rose wouldn't have even gotten on the team if it weren't for Zabini," Malfoy said, gesturing towards his housemate.

"Well," Zabini said, elbows on the table. "I wouldn't have convinced Rose to join if it weren't for her knocking you out cold."

"This is how rumours start," Scorpius warned playfully.

"I didn't knock him out _cold_ ," Rose snorted, putting her fork down long enough to take a breath. "I just…punched him in the face."

"Incidentally," Albus jumped in, "Both Ron and Hermione punched your dad in the face."

"So what you're telling me," Scorpius said, raising his eyebrows, "is that violence is hereditary with you lot?"

"Absolutely," Roxanne grinned. "Runs in our genes."

"Except me," Molly called, picking at her salad. "I'm a pacifist."

The entire table erupted into groans.

This banter continued for most of the evening, until Hugo popped his Christmas cracker with Lily—showering everyone in fake snow—before pulling out a hideous bonnet that he put on. Then, conversation ceased as crackers were pulled and exploded. Albus won against Fred, and put on a rather dashing top hat. Rose beat Scorpius, but was so offended by the straw hat inside she insisted Scorpius wear it. All along the table, people were pulling crackers and reading out poor jokes.

As plates began to get stacked, Scorpius dutifully stood to help, receiving heckles from the rest of the group. He ignored them, collecting plates, refusing to listen to their instance that he was the _guest_. Feeling rather merry, he entered the kitchen with a stack.

It wasn't just Hermione this time. An older, shorter woman with doughy arms and a knitted cardigan was putting leftovers in containers, and a much older gentleman was opening up what looked to be a toaster.

Rose's grandparents. He recognised them in an instant. For her grandfather, in particular, had her eyes. Bright blue, with the slightest bit of gold around the rim. A pair of glasses had slid down his long nose—something else Rose had also inherited.

"I've got some plates," Scorpius said, feeling as if he _should_ have been feeling far warier. Instead, he couldn't shake the ease of the Cheering Charm. He placed the plates by the sink. Both Molly and Arthur Weasley watched him, stunned, as if a Sphinx had wondered into their midst. Scorpius noticed the toaster properly this time. He tugged his straw hat off. "Look at _that_. You know, I don't think I've actually ever seen a toaster in person. You wouldn't happen to be taking is apart at any point, would you?"

Arthur Weasley blinked a few times. Scorpius came around to inspect the toaster.

"Well…eventually, I was going to," he croaked.

"I always found the cooking appliances in particular quite fascinating. Just _clever_ , you know? Getting all these things to run on electricity like that. I suppose it doesn't even compare to things like iPhones and Apple Watches but I always found it interesting."

He smiled fondly at the toaster and patted it twice before looking up at the elderly man before him. He could not completely register the look on his face. Before he could ask, Hermione was back in the kitchen, the rest of the plates in her hand.

"Honestly," she cried, in what was swiftly becoming a mantra. "You're our _guest_. You're not supposed to be helping."

"I was just admiring the toaster. Brilliant, really. In third year, I wrote an entire essay on the history and mechanics of the muggle blender."

"You took Muggle Studies?" Arthur Weasley blinked.

"Of course," Scorpius replied promptly. "Still am. Currently taking it at N.E.W.T. level."

Again, he struggled to read Arthur's reaction, but had little time to processes it. Hermione was setting a sponge onto the first batch of plates with her wand. "Head back out, Scorpius. Pudding will be ready in a bit."

He complied, giving a final, wistful look at the toaster.

Soon, everyone was plied with so much food that they were fit to burst. Eyes were getting droopy. Angus Finnigan fell asleep on Rose's shoulder. Lysander and Hugo were playing a game of Gobstones by the fire. The mood was perfectly still, warm and comfortable. The house, even with its temporary Extension Charm, was too small to accommodate so many people. The effect was not a negative one, though. At the manor, Scorpius was likely to lose himself. Here, it was almost impossible to be out of the ear or eyeshot of another.

Grandma Weasley was handing out a collection of jumpers that was so huge, it was almost a mountain of wool. Albus was given his in green, the letter A on the front. Rose's was a dark maroon, which she rolled her eyes at, before tugging onto her head. Molly, who had received a baby pink jumper with a grey letter M on the front, looked less likely to put hers on. As each jumper was distributed, Scorpius felt the artificial cheeriness begin to fade. It receded from the edges of his mind, leaving him cool and still.

Across the room, Rose watched him. She had been watching him all day. Watching the way he interacted with her cousins and parents; watched him make strange, witty remarks that coaxed out curious smiles; watched him carry plates to the kitchen and picking up bon-bon wrappers from the floor. His presence in the house was strange but comfortable, like a stray cat that had been welcomed over the threshold. He was hesitant but delighted.

Now, he was withdrawing. Rose watched him, then, too. He was still sitting at the table, holding a slip of parchment that had come from one of the Christmas crackers, undoubtedly with a poorly worded joke on it. His stare was intense, as if nothing was more important that that envelope and the action of his long fingers. It occurred to Rose how out of place he must have felt all day. The room was filled with freckled faces, a shocking amount of red heads and hand-knitted Weasley jumpers. Teddy was still yelling familiar stories from Christmases of years past and grandma Weasley was pulling out old photographs from Bill and Fleur's wedding while weeping about the war. Scorpius had always seemed frustrated to be excluded, but perhaps being included was worse.

Rose snuck out from under a sleeping Angus Finnigan and crossed the room to join Scorpius.

"Hey," she said, as she snatched the envelope from his hands. He looked up, startled. "Let's go outside for a moment."

He looked around nervously, as if expecting a relative to refuse their leave. But everyone was preoccupied in their familiar activities, and watching Scorpius Malfoy was the last thing on their mind. Slowly, he stood and Rose took his arm, leading him out of the room.

James' half melted snowmen dropped in the garden like sad little statues. They both shivered the moment they were on the porch. Now that it was late in the afternoon, the pale sun already low in the sky, the temperature had dropped further. Scorpius tucked his hands into his pockets as he admired the frosted garden.

"I don't have a greenhouse," Rose joked.

"You have a really nice home."

Rose pinched his side. "You seem down. What's the matter?"

Scorpius smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He sat down on the porch step, looking at the icy tire swing as it slowly swung in the breeze. After a second, Rose crouched down beside him. He hadn't replied. He looked like he was thinking over his answer.

"They all love you," she said, guessing that this may have been on his mind. "Even Molly is being surprisingly courteous. At least, that's her making an effort to be courteous."

Scorpius shook his head, indicating that that wasn't it. This time, Rose just waited. He would talk when he was ready.

"I enjoy Christmas with my family, truly," he eventually said. "I usually get spoilt rotten. It's just…"

He squinted at the face of the melted snowman nearest to him. Rose's hand crept into his jacket pocket, so she could find and squeeze his fingers. Scorpius sighed, his breath creeping into the air like steam.

"It's just, I've never done anything stupid or foolish. I have no exciting memories. I've done nothing moronic just for note."

Rose could not imagine how having never done something stupid was a cause for regret. In retrospect, she would. She would understand that foolish decisions often made the best stories, and her life—the lives that preceded it—were a web of foolish stories.

Rose checked that they weren't being watched before she grabbed Scorpius' jumper and pulled him to his feet.

"C'mon. I have something to show you," she said.

They hurried past the army of slushy snowmen, through the garden and out the back gate. Rose went to great pains to erase their footprints with a charm, but the moment they were out of the house's boundaries, she was forced to put her wand away. She wouldn't be able to get away with any underage magic.

They made their way down the lane behind the house, brambles dropping now on their heads.

"Where are we going?"

"Be patient."

"Your dad is going to kill us."

"We're making a foolish memory, you berk."

They continued on the familiar dirty path, which was now covered in half melted snow. Their boots sunk into the frosty carpet. By the time they reached their destination, their noses had turned a bright pink.

They stood at the quiet pond where they had shared their first proper kiss. It was frozen over with thin ice that broke to pieces around the bank, where reeds still danced in the light breeze. It was still and lovely and quiet, with not a soul about.

Scorpius stared at it in wonder before turning to Rose, who was taking a few more steps towards the pond's edge. He grabbed her wrist. "The ice isn't thick enough to walk on," he warned her.

"I know," Rose said. "That's why we're going to swim."

Scorpius turned sharply, alarmed. But Rose was utterly serious, and determined to be foolish. Once she checked the coast was definitely clear, she began to strip off her layers.

"Are you _mental_?"

"Once in a lifetime memory to be made," she said, dropping her Weasley jumper to the ground. She shivered, standing in nothing but a thin long-sleeve shirt and her jeans. She began to take those off, too. The skin on her back was covered in freckles and moles, split by the black lip of her bra. He noticed that she hadn't done the clip up properly, that only one hook was through the eye. It was such a silly detail to notice. He looked away, focusing on the icy chunks floating in the pond. Little did Scorpius know, this would be the first of two instances where he would see Rose in a state of undress in the months that followed.

"Well? I want to make this quick," Rose said, pulling off her boots.

Scorpius was clearly torn between resignation and embarrassment. He looked around, his pink face flushed, before he also began to tug off his jacket, then his jumper. "What the hell," he muttered, folding his clothes hastily and dropping them over Rose's. Seeing this, Rose cheered, and he immediately hushed her, looking around to see whether they had attracted an audience. The country pond was as still and isolated as ever.

They stood in their underwear, trembling, stepping up to the lake's edge. Out of a sense of modesty, they refused to look at each other. Instead, Scorpius grabbed Rose's shaking hands. The prospect of what they were about to do was not pleasant.

"This will be cold," Rose warned him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Scorpius smile. He began to count. "One. Two—"

Rose tugged his arm, yanking him forward before he got to three. They hit the water.

It was a pain neither had known. Their heads broke the water a moment later. It was as if the blood had turned to ice in their veins, and their entire body was being pierced by blades.

"Fuck," Scorpius gasped. Rose had never heard him swear before. His teeth were chattering, his lips turning blue. His silver blonde hair and grey eyes only added to the image of him being frozen. Rose laughed through chattering teeth. Immediately, they both clawed their way over he slushy riverbank. Trembling, numb, they fumbled their way through their clothes.

"That was s-s-so s-stupid," Scorpius chattered.

She grinned. "Your lips are blue."

"So are yours," he said, buckling his belt.

He was useless at Charms, and it hardly worked, although her hair did slowly frizz back up. He extracted his wand from his jacket. He pointed it at Rose, steam drying her as she tugged on her shirt and jumper. He was terrible at charms, and all it did was frizz up her hair.

It took them a minute to recover all their layers, but soaked to the bone and trembling, they had yet to recover their body heat. Without speaking, Rose and Scorpius enveloped one another in a hug. Buried into the crook of his neck, Rose let his itchy jumper scratch her cheek. Her cold nose pressed against the heat of his neck. She burrowed her fingers into his pockets. They shivered together, sharing whatever warmth had surfaces in their goosepimpled flesh. Neither said a word. They lingered. Rose enjoyed their shared heat. Their skin began to thaw.

They finally drew back, some of the colour returned to their faces now. Scorpius' face softened into a smile.

"Happy Christmas."

"And a fantastic New Year," Rose quipped. "Let's go."

* * *

When Rose and Scorpius returned to the house—and they had only been missing for a total of fifteen minutes—they stumbled into the crossfire of wedding-planning quarrelling.

"You invited _all of the dragon keepers?_ " Victoire exclaimed as the two Slytherins slipped into the lounge room. She was speaking to her parents, and the argument covered up the return of the missing duo.

"Well, we invited Charlie and you've invited Krishna," her father replied, his low voice even. "It seemed rude to just leave off the rest."

"Yoo were with zem for tree months, Victoire," her mother scolded.

"Three months isn't really a long time when you compare it to how long I've been alive," she corrected. "What happened to _just_ family?"

"Zey are like your family!"

"Teddy, are you _hearing_ this?" Victoire huffed, rounding the sofa to plant her hands on her shoulders. " _All_ the handlers!"

"The more the merrier," he relented. "What does it matter at this point?"

"Next thing I know you'll be telling me Malfoy's invited," she muttered, gesturing to Scorpius, who had just perched on an armchair.

Teddy looked around before lunging across Lily and Simon Finnigan to squeeze Malfoy's shoulder tightly. He jumped, startled. Beside him, Rose stifled a laugh.

"I _adore_ Malfoy. We're mates," Teddy said. "Of course I want him at our wedding!"

"Me?" Scorpius said blinking at him in confusion.

Teddy forced both Lily and Simon to move down the sofa so he could wrap an arm around Scorpius, who was far too stunned to do anything other than squint suspiciously at the green haired delinquent. "This kid," Teddy said, "is the reason I've changed my ways. That I've _bettered_ myself."

"That's an exaggeration," Scorpius said quickly.

"We said family _only_!" Victoire cried, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

"Scorpius _is_ family," Teddy insisted, his headlock not loosening at all.

At this, a few heads that weren't Victoire's also turned towards Teddy with sceptical looks. Rose and Albus were included in that number. Everyone was a little surprised to hear this. Rose in particular was sending Teddy a warning look.

"Scorpius is my second cousin," Teddy added as way of explanation. "My nan is your grandma's sister."

"Right," Scorpius said, nodding in surprise. In spite of studying Rose and Albus' family tree inside out, he had left Teddy Lupin off somehow. It had never occurred to him that they were, in fact, related. Everyone's eyes were on Scorpius again, and for the first time since his panic attack in the laundry, he was feeling anxious.

"Plus," Teddy rambled on, facing Albus and Rose. "He's your fourth cousin once removed because all of you are descendants of Phineas Nigellus Black."

"Phineas Nigellus Black! That's who's to blame for all this," Victoire cried out mockingly. She leaned down and kissed the top of Teddy's head. "Fine. Invite whom you want. But I'm choosing where everyone gets to sit."

"A splendid compromise," Teddy agreed. He leaned in, lowering his voice, muttering from the corner of his mouth. "You two go missing for fifteen minutes. You're lucky I covered for you."

"We were just in the garden," Rose said.

"Uh-huh," Teddy nodded, before propelling himself out of his seat.

"Blimey, you're _family_ ," Albus said, raising his eyebrows. "Well, this changes things, doesn't it?"

"Does it?" Rose asked quickly.

"Well, I think so," Lily piped up. "He's really one of us now!"

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that."

"Ignore Lily," Rose advised. "She wants to collect everyone she knows and add them to our clan's ensemble."

"Malfoy," Molly said, weaving across the room to him. She was here alone, without parents or siblings, and she would be leaving alone too. She looked down at him with her thinly plucked eyebrows. "Since you're part of the family, you can have this," she said, holding out the pink hand-knitted Weasley jumper.

"A-are you sure?"

"Positive. M for Malfoy, right?" she said, slinging her bag onto her shoulder. "And anyway, pink is far more your colour than mine."

The adults were beginning to collect their children, with promises that many of them would be back tomorrow for Boxing Day. Ron set a broom to start magically cleaning up the floors. After the slow build up and the strangely drawn out day, Scorpius was left with a hollow feeling of disappointment seeing everyone slowly leave. Scorpius fingered the pink wool of Molly's abandoned jumper. Under no circumstances could he imagine giving up something like this, no matter what the colour was.

* * *

 **A/N: I rewrote this chapter THREE times, what in the world. Originally Scorpius and Zabini** ** _were_** **staying the whole holidays and I was like nah, that would never fly with the Weasleys. Anyway. Here it is. Part of this chapter was written so long ago, it was written in first person back when this story was still a Rose-centric first person draft.**

 **I only did one proof read, so accept my typos as a gift.** **Splitting it here because it would get to long otherwise, but Boxing Day and wedding are coming up next! Review review review! I read all your reviews, even if I don't reply x**


	12. Chapter Twelve

– CHAPTER TWELVE –

"This day has been a complete mess," Victoire sighed, bunching up the hideous lace train of her wedding dress, Teddy trailing after her, his dress shoes kicking up sand. He toed them off and threw them in the direction of the path that cut through the cliff face. The moon hung low, a sliver of silver in the sky, giving the stars their privacy.

"I think the moment we started dating, we both had to accept that every day would be a complete mess," Teddy said.

Victoire grinned at him, taking his hand in hers. The wind blew them a kiss over the inky sea, rippling the surface of the quiet rock pools.

It was the most free they had been in months.

They waddled into the water, feet conforming to the rivets in the rocks. The water was cold and icy, like glass in their feet. The garish wedding dress rose like seafoam around their ankles.

Victoire knotted her fingers into Teddy's blue hair. "I love you," she said quietly. "But I'm worried this was a mistake."

* * *

If you asked Rose Weasley, Christmas was all about food.

The days _after_ Christmas and _preceding_ New years were usually all about love—love running mad, love running beneath the skin of things, love like a cup of hot chocolate that burns the tongue. The hangover of present opening, where you actually read the cards. Curling up with your mother on the sofa beside the fire. Wrapping yourself in a woolly Weasley jumper. Sharing a new years' kiss. Whatever it was, the days _following_ Christmas were all about love.

Let's start at the first. Boxing Day.

* * *

The smell of books and ink permeated the air, immediately comforting Scorpius. There was something about book that always settled him down. A study was a study no matter where you were. It was not as grand as his father's study, and the desk had been pushed aside to make room for the two beds, but the books on the shelves were all unique, some beautifully bound, others battered and beaten. He inched towards them as Zabini threw the sheets over his bed in an attempt to make it.

"This is a brilliant collection," Scorpius murmured, staring at the spines of the books. He hadn't given it any attention the night before. He had been too stuffed with food and far too tired. The Weasleys never seemed to stop going—even now, he could hear them downstairs clattering around the house, early in the morning, as loud as nosy nifflers.

"We're both charity cases," Zabini said, sitting back on his cot. "That's how Rose convinced her mum to get us here. Sort of gratifying, isn't it? You being in the same boat as me."

"Don't even imply that we're the same," Scorpius drawled, examining all the books. "I've had things far better off than you."

"I missed out on a lot of things," Zabini acknowledged. "But so have you."

When he turned back around to argue, Zabini's eyes were on the pink Weasley jumper Scorpius was still wearing. Embarrassed, he pulled it off over his head. The neck tugged at his hair. Scorpius didn't deserve charity—not when he had grown up with so much privilege. And he was proud—too proud—to accept being taken in out of pity. He did not realise that charity was not a symptom of pity, but of love.

The door creaked open, and Rose poked her head into the room. Both the boys paused to look at her.

"Need a book?" Scorpius said, raising an eyebrow.

"You two planning on having breakfast?"

Zabini raised his eyebrows. "You haven't eaten it all already, have you?"

Rose had not. Brunch had already been made—enough eggs to feed an army courtesy of Ron, a pile of toast and bacon also placed on the table. The Potters had arrived, as had Imogen Abercrombie, who was icy towards Albus despite his attempts to host her. Scorpius had never seen the two Gryffindors more at odds, which was truly saying something. Imogen was all sharp elbows and turned heads, giving Albus monosyllabic answers.

If Scorpius was relieved about anything, it was that he was no longer the new shiny toy. In fact, most of the attention in the room was focused on Imogen.

"What did _you_ do for Christmas, Imogen?" Lily asked.

"Er, I suppose I just had some tea with my mum," she said coldly. "Can you pass the bacon?"

Lily obliged. It was all very uncomfortable, like a job interview. James spoke next. "When a few others arrive, we can head outside. It looks like it snowed last night."

"Ugh, I hate snow," Imogen muttered, spearing some bacon. James actually drew back, offended.

"We could play Gobstones instead?" Hugo offered. Everyone groaned.

"You've never had a Weasley-Potter Snowball fight," Albus coaxed, resting his hand on her shoulder. "I promise, it'll be worth the cold."

Imogen pretended to cough so she could move her shoulder away from him. Albus dropped his hand. Then, she addressed the other Potter siblings. "A snowball fight?"

"It's tradition," Lily said solemnly.

"And now we have the Snowstorm Creator that Uncle Ron got us for Christmas," James added eagerly.

None of this really seemed to be enticing their guest. Zabini fell into the seat opposite Imogen, hair still wet from his shower. He pulled the palter of eggs towards him and dished some onto his plate.

"Ridiculous, isn't it? The snowball fight thing," Zabini said loudly in response to Imogen's earlier protests. "They're only eager for a rematch because I smashed them yesterday."

James loudly complained that it was beginner's luck and nothing more. Imogen tweaked a smile.

"Oh," she said, ducking under the table (managing to elbow Albus in the jaw during the process). She resurfaced with a white paper bag a moment later. "I bought Christmas gifts for you all."

Everyone at the table began to protest loudly at Imogen, but not everyone was entirely sincere. Rose craned her head around to peek into the bag and Scorpius jabbed her waist to correct her. Imogen began to extract candles, small and white, contained in expensive glass. They were all exactly the same.

"This is really thoughtful," Albus said, turning the gift over in his hands.

Imogen rolled her eyes, as did Rose, who was disappointed. "Mum insisted I didn't come empty handed. And she works in the Home Fragrance section at Marks and Spencer."

"I love scented candles," Scorpius said, pulling off the small lid and sniffing. Rose twitched, as if containing the urge to mock him. She caught Zabini's eye and they both pressed their lips together. Scorpius hadn't noticed the mute exchange. "Sandalwood?" he asked.

"Yep, mum's favourite. She stockpiles them," Imogen added. "Always burning them around the house."

The doorbell rung and Hugo bounced up to answer it. Second later, several more Weasleys were pouring into the room, one after the other, like a never-ending line. Imogen's eyebrows spiked to her hairline.

"I know," Zabini smirked, lowering his voice. "It's like a muggle magic trick."

* * *

Imogen agreed to the snowball fight, which turned to a blizzard with the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes gadget spewing up a vortex of white powder. They played in teams, and Imogen was quick to side with the team against Albus.

He noticed.

Somehow, he had become accustomed to her moodiness, but he was still offended by this insistence cold-shouldering. He hadn't done a thing to her. It was Imogen who had wanted to come along—he had merely extended the invitation. He felt the irritating need to apologise, but he wasn't sure what on earth he was supposed to apologise for. Albus crushed the niggling need to people-please and instead sided with Scorpius, who was hiding behind the garden shed, well away from the fallout of the snow vortex, and looked as if he had no interest in participating.

"What's with Abercrombie?" Scorpius asked in his drawl. "She seems more unbearable than usual."

"Honestly, mate, I don't know what to tell you. She was the one who _wanted_ to come. She did this passive aggressive routine."

They heard squeals from the other side of the shed that must have been Lily, followed by a round of laughter.

"Well, she's certainly doing a passive aggressive routine now," Scorpius acknowledged. "Did you do something to upset her?"

"I—don't—know," Albus said through gritted teeth. Scorpius frowned at him, causing Albus to re-evaluate. It was as if it had dawned on him for the first time. Albus muttered, closing his eyes tightly, "I must've offended her when…Merlin, have you ever met anyone with such a fragile ego as Imogen Abercrombie?"

"Your brother," Scorpius suggested. "Isabella."

"I didn't ask for examples," Albus snapped. He took a shaky breath before putting his face in his hands. For a moment, Scorpius was convinced he had broken down into tears. He was quietly shaking. Hesitantly, he rested his hand on his shoulder.

But Albus wasn't crying. He was shaking with laughter.

"She tried to kiss me—at Bellucci's party. Imogen tried to kiss me and I panicked because I didn't want to kiss her. And I told her that to her face. That's so _rude_. Oh my goodness, she's _offended—_ because I didn't snog her."

Scorpius shook his head, a little stunned. Albus rubbed a tear from his eye and sighed, still grinning. A part of him was pleased that Albus had come to him with this problem, and not to Rose. In fact, he was a little smug.

"If you didn't t want to kiss her, then you shouldn't."

"Maybe I should've just to have let it happen. We were under mistletoe, it wasn't like it was personal," Albus muttered, plucking at Scorpius' pink Weasley jumper.

"You know," Scorpius said, "When Mary Boot tried to kiss me, I ducked."

"You _ducked_. Merlin. Okay that makes me feel loads better," Albus sighed, running his hands through his hair.

There was a victory cry from somewhere beyond the shed.

Unsaid between them was the inkling feeling that Imogen fancied Albus, beneath her brashness and icy hostility. She had a crush, and a girl like Imogen did not form crushes on boys very easily. She was not a romantic or sentimental girl. Albus' rejection of her must have stung. But Albus knew, deep down, that Imogen only fancied him because she had never had a boy take interest in being friends with her. She was confusing his friendship with feelings, and she would soon get over it.

Scorpius searched around in his pocket and pulled out a small, perfectly wrapped blue package. The silver ribbon had been tied into a perfect pinwheel bow. "I forgot to give it to you yesterday," he prompted. Albus took the package hesitantly—it was too beautifully wrapped to rip open.

"A lot of sodding help you two were," Rose said, stomping around the shed. Her boots broke the crusty surface of the snow. "That's the last time I'm on your team."

Her blue eyes darted to the neatly wrapped box in Albus' hands, then expectantly turned to Scorpius.

"Do I get a present?" she said, almost expectantly. "You haven't given _me_ one."

Both the boys glanced at one another. Albus' dark eyebrows twitched and Scorpius pressed his lips together.

Rose placed her mitts onto her hips. " _Well_?"

"Er, it's in the mail…" Scorpius said slowly, giving Albus a quick look. He stifled his laughter.

Scorpius gestured for Rose to go on ahead of him with a flourish of his wrist. She hesitated, sending a final, suspicious look at her cousin before tromping ahead. Albus had already forgotten Rose, and was instead peeling back the wrapping paper, and taking the lid off the box. Three small perfect phials. An Invisibility Potion, a Silencing Solution and the last was a very tongue-in-cheek bottle of Boil Cure Potion. Scorpius heard Albus chuckling as he shut the back door behind him.

* * *

Having been too preoccupied with the festivities on Christmas Day, the rest of the Weasley cousins were opening or exchanging gifts that had not been given. They sat around the Weasley bungalow, eating loads of chocolate and swapping wizarding trading cards. Where possible, they traded gifts. Hugo swapped his Remembrall with Lily's biting teacup set, which (courtesy of her brothers) had already bitten her nose twice.

Zabini, who never felt uncomfortable or unwanted under any circumstances, joined them all in the living room. He would be leaving soon—duffle bag now beside the fireplace—but would stretch out his final hour with a bit more free chocolate if he could help it. In any case, Scorpius and Rose had inconspicuously gone missing, and until he had said goodbye to them both, he wasn't leaving.

Hugo, Lily and Louis were splayed across the carpet. James and Dominique were deep in conversation. Albus and Roxanne were perched on the sofa, mugs of tea resting on their knees. It was as if a mob had assembled. They were talking in low voices, their eyes darting up the staircase and then drifting back over the living room. When Zabini descended, everyone paused on him.

"Hey," he said, raising his eyebrows at them all. He realised that they had not been waiting for him. "Where's Rose and Malfoy?"

"Oh, upstairs I think," Hugo said flippantly.

Zabini rolled his eyes, taking a seat on the free armchair. "Of course."

Lily's head snapped in his direction.

"Do you know something?" she demanded.

He smirked. "I have a _feeling_."

At this, the energy in the room was suddenly abuzz, as if a swarm of invisible bees had entered. Everyone sat up, attentive, eyes on Zabini. Only Albus seemed to recoil from the suggestion.

"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed. "There is nothing going on between them. I would know."

"Are you honestly telling me you don't think anything fishy is going on between Rose and Malfoy?" Zabini asked.

"I agree," Hugo added, sitting up now. "I reckon there is something going on. Malfoy was sending Rose a _lot_ of letters earlier this year."

"Don't be so paranoid," Albus sighed.

"I _hope_ they're together," Lily added. "Malfoy is so lovely and they would be just _perfect_ —"

Albus stood up now, clearly too outraged to let the speculation continue.

"There is _nothing_ going on between them, alright?"

But it was as if he had said the magic words. Everyone was suddenly in overdrive.

"Want to bet?"

"If we're going to bet, we do it properly."

"I say they'll get together by the end of the year," Hugo said.

"I reckon by Valentine's Day," Roxanne piped up.

"I reckon they'll kiss by the Easter holidays," Hugo said, raising a finger, "but nothing will come of it."

Everyone turned to Zabini, who was in a state of disbelief. The willingness of this group to make money off other people's personal lives was astounding.

"Are you going to place a bet?" Roxanne offered.

"No way. I don't bet money," Zabini said. He didn't have money to lose. He had seen what debt had done to his mother. "But if I _were_ to place a bet, I would not bet against them."

"I bet that they're already together," James said, shrugging as he bit down on a biscuit. "And are hiding it from us."

It was such a big accusation that everyone crowed and yelped in response.

See, the Weasley clan had mastered the art of betting on a person's relationship. It happened frequently. Betting on a timeline meant you fell within a spectrum of being close to the correct date, minimizing the risk factor. Betting that someone was already together was all or nothing. The only thing as risky was to—

"I bet they will _never_ get together," Albus said, actually standing up. "Never have been together, never will be."

Everyone gasped in shock. Things were now high-stakes.

"C'mon, guys," Albus sighed, throwing his hands up at the dramatic reaction. "Rose cannot keep a secret. Do you really think she could fancy Malfoy without letting it slip to one of us? And anyway, I know for a fact that Scorpius has turned her down. If anyone will be winning, it's me."

"I wouldn't speak so soon," James crowed. "Who bet that Teddy and Vic would be together before Christmas? And now they're getting _married_. Love is mad that way."

Zabini rolled his eyes. He was not about to bet on someone's love life, but if he were, he wouldn't like Albus' odds.

"What are you all talking about?" Rose said, coming down the last few steps and resting with her hip against the bannister. After a moment, Scorpius trailed down behind her. Everyone stared at the two of them with lamp like eyes.

"Nothing," Zabini said. "But I'm heading off."

* * *

In a few days, she would be married. The idea of it didn't frighten her one bit. Victoire was wrapped in a blanket that her gran had knitted several years earlier, putting one of her fingers through a hole in the corner. Downstairs, her sister was discussing floral bouquets with Teddy, who had an eye for that sort of thing and was also far more patient than his future wife. She was wearing a big oversized jumper, one that had belonged to her father. It hung off her coat hanger shoulders, the pink dragon scar peaking out.

The months spent in Romania felt like a strange dream, somehow in-between unreality and wakefulness. She was excited to see Krishna and Charlie, and even the others, but confronting the handlers now felt disturbing. In her mind, they only existed in Romania. They could not leave those borders. She wasn't supposed to see them again. To see…

Her stomach twisted, and she thought nervously of Teddy, who never _ever_ questioned her loyalty. He had ended a friendship that had lasted over a decade simply because Digby had slighted Victoire after she had left him. _She_ had left _him_. She had left Teddy, and he had still defended her. She wrapped herself more tightly in the crocheted blanket. It didn't feel right to wear a big white frock and waltz with champagne bubbles in her stomach when she had shattered Teddy's loyalty.

She couldn't even remember what had triggered her decision to leave.

She stood up, the blanket trailing behind her, and fumbled around the room in search of some paper. There was an old newspaper on the dresser, and a mock-up wedding invitation—invisible ink—on the bedside table. She picked it up and turned the lacy, empty piece of parchment over and grabbed a quill.

Somewhere, downstairs, Teddy was choosing her bouquet.

* * *

Four days staying at the Weasley's Bungalow was more than Scorpius had bargained for. It was painfully difficult to be living in the _same house_ as Rose Weasley, a mere bedroom away, and pretend that they were no more than friends. Without her cousins to distract attention from them, he felt uncomfortably aware of their proximity and her parent's prying, so he did his best to stay up late playing Gobstones with Hugo or talking politics with Hermione.

Ron—or, _Mr Weasley_ as Scorpius was far too polite to use a first name without permission and Rose's father had still withheld it—navigated Scorpius with a cautious eye and a shrewd smile. He was not as rude as he had been on that first day, but he did little to make his stay welcome. Also, he had fallen into the habit of coming upstairs each night before he went to bed to wish everyone sweet dreams. Rose assured her boyfriend this was not unusual for him, but Scorpius was convinced her father only did this to check that Scorpius was by himself on the study's camp bed.

The house was cramped, there was no where to hideaway—even if he wished to read on the sofa, Hugo or Rose or Hermione would strike up a chat in passing or insist on making him tea—and he personally felt that he had overstayed his visit.

And Rose, who did not take their secret very seriously anymore, made all this worse. She would steal a kiss in the kitchen when it was their turn to wash up. She would insist on creeping across the creaky landing well past three in the morning to sneak into the study and slip under his sheets, her cold feet burrowing under his warm legs. He would lay there, as stiff as a board, filled with the desire to wrap his arms around her, while being frozen to the spot with the anxiety of being caught. She would slip out before dawn, so that the entire experience was like sleep paralysis.

It was driving him mental. The equal measures of pent up desire and apprehension fighting for his attention had left him as highly strung as a harp. The slightest brush of Rose's arm at the dinner table would cause him to tremble.

Two days before the wedding, there was a knock, and her cheerful voice, "I hope you're decent."

He was still in his pyjamas, the boring stripy bottoms and a thick, cotton shirt. He glanced around the room quickly, but he had nothing to change into. Rose was already dressed, a thick parka making her look like an overstuffed pillow. She pushed the door open without response.

"I'm always decent," he said, taking a seat on the side of his bed. Rose moved to close the door behind her, her expression coy, and any effort to protest was quickly lost.

"Close doors tend to draw attention."

"Don't be such a stick in the mud," she complained, leaning down to kiss him. He dodged her, getting back up so he could open the door. Rose pouted, leaning against the desk, where the book she gave given him for Christmas— _The Greatest Muggle Inventions of Mankind_ —rested on top of his trunk. She flipped through the pages idly. "Why're you still in pyjamas?"

"Your mum threw my clothes in the wash last night and I only brought enough for an overnight stay."

It was another little reminder that he was _overstaying_ his visit. He felt like a plant that had outgrown his pot. He fidgeted nervously with the drawstring of his pyjamas.

Rose hardly seemed to notice. Her upbeat mood was unperturbed, and she disappeared out onto the landing and through to Hugo's room. Scorpius trailed into the landing after her and waited, sliding down against the wall so he was sitting on the floor, head tilted back. When Rose returned, it was with a pair of Hugo's jeans and a thick jumper.

She sat down beside him, long legs stretched out so they almost reached the wall on the other side. She placed the neatly folded pile in his lap.

"I haven't forgotten about the fact you haven't given me my Christmas present yet."

"It's waiting for you back at Hogwarts."

"Can't you at least give me a _clue_?"

"You'll just get upset if I spoil the surprise," Scorpius smirked, tilting his head back so it hit the wall. The warmth was seeping out of his pyjama trousers into the cold floorboards. Rose leaned across, placing her hand on his knee.

"What's with the frown?"

He held up the jeans. "I think I'll be a bit too tall for Hugo's clothing."

"No, really. Why're you so glum?"

Scorpius hesitated, staring at Hugo's borrowed clothes. "Am I getting in the way here?"

"Not in the slightest," Rose reassured him.

"Oi," Ron barked, almost stepping on them as he got to the top of the stairs. "You two are in the way sitting here."

"Right," Scorpius said dryly, getting to his feet. Ron eyed him suspiciously, blue eyes squinted. He held the pile of clothes nervously in both hands.

"Do you mind lending Scorpius a pair of trousers, Dad?" Rose asked, also struggling to her feet. Scorpius didn't dare help her up under the scrutiny of her father. In fact, he stood several feet away from her. "Mum threw his clothes in the wash last night."

Like his daughter, Ron was a beanpole. Scorpius was only an inch shorter than him, but he was so curled up into himself, he looked far shorter. "Well, I suppose since he didn't pack enough," Ron grumbled.

"I was only supposed to stay the night," Scorpius said—he had said it a lot. It was their family's instance that he stay until the wedding.

Rose was already taking the stairs two at a time, calling that she would be back with some clothes in a moment. Ron called after her not to take his good jeans, but whether his daughter heard him or not was neither here nor there. In any case, both men were left alone in small corridor. Scorpius audibly gulped. The expression on Ron's face looked somewhat like a cat's when it had cornered its mouse.

"So, Malfoy," Ron began gruffly. "You and Rose are good friends, then?"

"Yes, Mr Weasley," he said coolly, suppressing his nerves. But did that make him seen too cold? Unfriendly?

Ron raised his fair eyebrows. "I hope you're not a bad influence on her."

"I think it's probably the other way around, to be frank."

At this, he earned a tight smile. "I wouldn't be surprised," Ron said. Then he took in a sharp breath. He was making an effort. "What do you want to do after Hogwarts?"

He could feel the heat now in his neck. "I, er, want to work in Herbology."

"Herbology," Ron said slowly, as if he thought Scorpius might be lying. "So you like plants and things."

"And potions," he said, now feeling a bit like a giant sock puppet. Words were just coming out of his mouth. "I'm taking Alchemy this year."

"Blimey, an _Alchemist_. Are we looking at the next Nicholas Flamel?"

Two pink spots had now definitely appeared in Scorpius' cheeks. He held Ron's blue eyes, refusing to break the stare. "I can't tell if you're being sarcastic, Mr Weasley."

"I wasn't," Ron said, with a bit of a smirk. "I know you're bright. I've had to listen to Rose complain about you for five years."

Scorpius didn't have a chance to recover from this initial interrogation, as Ron had quickly moved on to his next topic of discussion. "You're a Seeker on the Slytherin Quidditch team, aren't you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And you had Rose join as Beater."

"Yes."

"And who do you follow in the Quidditch League?"

He couldn't lie. He couldn't say Chudley Cannons just to appease him. If he lied—and Scorpius was an excellent liar—Ron would know that he was lying just to get in his good books. No one in their right mind would _actually_ go for the Chudley Cannons unless it was blind loyalty. He _had_ to be honest. It reminded Scorpius of the first time Rose had forced him into small-talk, in which he decided to be honest simply to keep the rapport alive. Both Rose and her father had the same blue eyes, and both sets of eyes provoked a desire for sincerity.

"I've supported the Wimbourne Wasps since I was a child," he said. "Mostly because they are the team closest to my local area."

"Ah," Ron said, looking smug with this answer. "A Stinger."

"That's right. I take my Quidditch very seriously."

"So did your father," Ron acknowledged. "I owe him for the Weasley Is Our King chant."

Again, Scorpius wasn't sure how to read his tone—whether it was mocking or docile. He hadn't heard the Weasley Is Our King story, although it did sound vaguely familiar. He opened his mouth to ask about it but was interrupted, as a pair of denim jeans came flying towards him. He caught them neatly with both hands.

"Go change," Rose said, leaning against the bannister. "Mum's started on breakfast."

Scorpius cleared his throat and retreated back to the study, highly conscious of both Rose and Ron Weasley's eyes following him into the room, even though he was certain they were wearing very different looks on their faces.

* * *

Teddy was wearing a navy suit—new and expensive, a gift from his Nan—and his hair was its popular cerulean blue. Guests were already beginning to arrive. He wondered how they were supposed to fit everyone into the fancy marquee that stood on the cliffside. Protective enchantments covered the land on a kilometre radius—Kingsley Shacklebolt had seen to that—and the guests were forced to walk for ten minutes up the winding path before finding the creamy sales of the marquee.

Shell Coattge was not too far off, just up the winding slope of the clliff that overlooked the sea. Victoire's bedroom light was on, although he couldn't see into the window. She was preparing right now, slipping into a dress and whatever else was supposed to happen on a wedding day. It felt like Cornish pixies were gnawing at the lining of his stomach.

"Teddy!" came a squeal, and a moment later he was accosted by the maid of honour, Krishna, who had failed to partake in any duties other than assure Victoire she would straighten her veil. In her defence, this was all that had been asked of her. Krishna squeezed Teddy's arm with her free hand, and slopped champagne onto the floor with her other. "Victoire shooed me out a little while ago. I'm so _excited_. Are you excited?"

"Yes, but probably not as excited as you," Teddy winced.

"To think, all those years ago at Hogwarts when you were both just—oh! Before I forget," she hooked her hand into the arm of a passing bloke, and almost gave him whiplash. "This is Adam! One of our handlers at the park."

"I've heard great things about you," Teddy said, shaking his hand. "Or, more about you all collectively, to be honest. Victoire never got into specifics."

"Glad to see that Victoire finally made up with _the boy_ ," Adam grinned, snaking a hand around Krishna's waist. "We certainly heard a lot of specific things about _you_ while she was in Romania."

Teddy's eyebrows jumped to his hairline, but he had no chance to follow up. Krishna was waving him off, retreating with Adam towards the rest of the handlers, bulky men and women with broad shoulders, skirting the grounds with their nervous looks. Teddy hardly got to catch his breath before someone else winded through the tall grass towards him.

This time, he was not taken by surprise.

"My, my. Don't you clean up well," Teddy said, extending a hand to twirl Selima. She smiled warmly. Her dressrobes had long, lacy sleeves that hid her scars and her tattoos. She stopped to give Teddy's hand a squeeze.

"I'm about to head in," she said, nodding towards the marquee. "Ralph's gone to save us seats. But I have to say, you look sharp yourself."

Teddy grinned, waving her inside, thinking it was perhaps time for him to ready himself also for the ceremony. Before he had a chance to move, yet another hand clasped his shoulder, tight, and Teddy almost jumped. When he turned around, his heart skipped. "Harry," he gasped, throwing his arms around his godfather. Even though they had been living together in Grimmauld Place, it had felt like weeks since they had seen each other properly. Harry looked tired but pleased, the salt and pepper growth on his face scratching Teddy's cheek as they embraced. In his hand, he held a small brown paper bag.

"What's that?" Teddy said, leaning back.

"French sweets from that café you like in London," Harry replied, tucking it into his hand. "I suspected you might need them—oh, hold on. Teddy, don't cry."

"Sorry," Teddy gasped, wiping at his eyes with the back of his wrist. "I'm just…"

"Overwhelmed," Harry finished, planting his hands on Teddy's shoulders. He waited for the younger man to suck down some breath. "Are you sure you're not rushing into this?" Harry said quietly. "The wedding just sort of happened to you both."

"Positive," Teddy said, rubbing at his eyes. "All I know is that I love Victoire and I'm not going to be able to face what comes next without her."

Harry smiled wearily, taking Teddy's face in his broad hand and chasing at tear with his thumb. There was so much pride in his eyes it was hard to look, like glaring into the sun. "I'm so proud of you two," Harry said, radiating warmth. "And your parents would be proud, too."

Harry dropped his hand, looking over Teddy's shoulder before taking a few steps back. Teddy turned in time to see Dominique before she ceased his wrist. His soon to be sister-in-law was dressed for the ceremony, her strawberry blonde hair was up in a loose bun, and she was wearing a chiffon lavender dress. Despite how sweet the ensemble was her face was far from happy.

"Victoire wants to speak to you," she said crossly. "Now. Hey Uncle Harry."

"You look lovely, Dominique," Harry said.

Teddy began to protest. "Isn't it bad luck to see—"

"It's an emergency," Dominique huffed. "Just shield your eyes."

"Go," Harry advised him, patting the hand that still clutched the paper bag. "Bring her sweets and everything will be fine."

Teddy sniffed, mustered up his most soppy smile, and set off for Shell Cottage. Half an hour until the ceremony. Soon, over two decades worth of friendship would be cemented in holy matrimony.

As he reached the top of the porch steps, he came to a halt. Leaning against the door in a set of old dressrobes was Digby Mullins.

* * *

Her mother and sister had spent the morning fussing over her hair. They had just fixed a goblin made tiara on top—a family heirloom—which she hated to bits. But her mother insisted, for the tiara was both her something borrowed and her something old. The dress was the something new. She hadn't eaten a thing all day and felt light headed as they packed her into her wedding gown, lacing up the corseting. The dress clung heavy to her body. It was exactly the sort of thing she didn't want to be wearing. Lace upon lace, a trumpet tail, a veil that looked like an oversized doily. Outside, she could hear the rabble moving towards the marquee. It was far too early for so many guests to have already arrived—over an hour before the ceremony was due to begin—and she guessed they were the 'close' family that wished to be a part of the preparations. It was around then her mother had floated from the room to check on the caterers, leaving Victoire with her sister.

Victoire wanted to march down there and insist they all leave—the aunts and uncles, cousins twice removed, the family friends of her parents she had only met in passing. She wanted them all to leave. But it was no more than a velleity. It wasn't the guests that she wanted gone. She was the one who wanted to leave.

"Please, just give me a minute," Victoire said, fidgeting away from her sister. "Please."

"Let me just finish with your hair," Dominique insisted, using her wand to coil it into curls. Victoire flinched away. "Go find Teddy," she said hotly.

Dominique stared at her, brown eyes wide. "But the groom isn't supposed to see the bride in her dress before—"

"Go and _get him_."

For a moment, she was alone in her bedroom at Shell Cottage, the one she had grown up in. The sea lapped outside, the sky grey and overcast. She took a seat on her bed and avoided looking at the mirror. All of this felt wrong, like some sort of misgiving. She had never dreamed of a big white wedding, especially not one that was modelled after her parent's. And she had never wanted the fanfare of a magical ceremony with over two hundred guests. She didn't want any of it. And the only person who would understand that, the only person she wanted to talk to about it was Teddy.

Who was downstairs somewhere, excitedly trying to make the day happen.

The stairs outside of her room creaked, and then her door was pushes ajar. She turned, steeling herself to explain all of this to her fiancé, but instead found herself face to face with his grandmother.

Andromeda Tonks was the sort of woman who demanded respect merely by looking at her. Her silver hair was tucked neatly into pin curls, which sat beneath a fancy blue hat. She was wearing a smart, periwinkle blue dress suit and a pair of silk gloves. Her heavily lidded eyes examined Victoire out of their crow's feet creases.

"Hello dear. Not getting cold feet, are we?" she asked quietly, clicking the door shut behind her.

Victoire had a sudden flash back of being very young, maybe seven, being dropped off at Teddy's house for a play date. Teddy would sneak cookies out of the jar to give to Victoire, and Andromeda would pretend not to notice.

Victoire tried to say, of course not, but the worse came out as a hoarse whisper.

Andromeda progressed further into the room, her small heels sinking into the carpet. She locked her eyes onto Victoire's.

"Feeling overwhelmed?" she asked.

Victoire nodded, before her chin dropped to her chest. She bunched up her lacy, trumpet skirt in her hands. It was almost impossible to properly sit in it.

"I remember what a stir it was when I got married to Ted," Andromeda said, her eyes on the top of Victoire's bowed head. "I was disowned, struck off the family tree. We had no choice but to elope and we had very little money. Even less support."

The story was familiar to Victoire, but it was the first time Teddy's grandmother had spoken it out loud to her. She looked up, but Andromeda was now inspecting herself in the mirror.

"I didn't mind. I was so overjoyed just to be with Edward. He was a good man."

Her eyes dropped from the reflection in the mirror. "I should add," Andromeda said, examining the bouquet sitting on the bureau, "I raised Teddy well. He may have had his rough patches, and that was to be expected. Quite naïve at times, too, but he's a good man. I raised him to be good."

"I know," Victoire murmured.

Here, Andromeda turned her sharp eyes onto Victoire. "If you feel overwhelmed because you did not want a big, garish wedding, then I understand. But if you feel overwhelmed because you do not want to get married to Teddy, I hope you speak up now. If you so much as a splinter to that boy's emotional state every again, you will be held directly responsible to me," she said coldly. "Is that understood?"

Victoire nodded numbly. "Good," Andromeda murmured. "In that case, best wishes to you both."

* * *

"I don't have time for you," Teddy said abruptly, trying to move past. All the sentimentalism he had felt that morning had abruptly given way, like a trap door opening. Digby threw an arm across the door to block him and Teddy buffeted him with the bag of French pastries. "How'd you even get _in_ here with all the security?"

"I-I got an invitation," Digby said, holding up the slip of lacy parchment. The Invisible Ink had been activated, so it was now a pearly grey on the paper. Victoire's handwriting across the top. "Look, Teddy—"

"Clearly there was a mistake," Teddy snapped. "I didn't want you here."

Digby glanced around anxiously, for there was movement behind the front door. He grabbed hold of Teddy and dragged him down the porch steps and around the side of the house. Teddy resisted the whole way, but he had never been particularly strong.

"You were right about all of it," Digby hissed, snatching his hand away. "The Ministry, the goblins. Everything's gone mental. Gladstone's completely lost the plot. It just took me a little while to catch up."

"Did it?" Teddy seethed. He had nothing else to add. It was painful to see Digby here, today. Growing up, Teddy had always pictured him as the best man, rings in his pocket, whispering to Teddy that Victoire looked beautiful as she progressed towards them, the groom's back to the aisle. Instead, they were fighting after months of estrangement with only a half an hour until the ceremony was due to begin.

"Spinelli's fled the country. The Agency is being used to hunt down werewolves, basically. Gladstone is on some sort of power trip, firing everyone in his office. I reckon he may even be under the Imperius."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

Digby hesitated, his mouth falling open, showing his bottom row of crooked teeth. Teddy remembered accidentally breaking those teeth during a particularly out-of-control Charms lesson in fourth year.

"Because I'm sorry," Digby said, shaking his head a little. "I was _wrong_. I wasn't prepared to throw away the years I had invested in the agency…"

"But you were prepared to throw away the years invested in our friendship?" Teddy turned to pull back. He had to deal with whatever crisis had accosted Victoire.

"C'mon, mate—even _you_ must understand what it's like to have every value and ideal you hold dear hijacked. I wasn't prepared."

"Neither was I," Teddy said quietly, looking Digby in the eye. "But when I needed you to just trust me, you didn't."

"But I do—I _do_ , now," Digby insisted.

They stared at each other for a long, hard minute. The clouds continued to swell in the pear-grey sky. Teddy knew, for he had rejected Harry and Victoire and everyone else in his family when they had warned him of Gladstone's untrustworthiness. In the same way, Digby had doubted him. It takes time to see things for oneself. And they were both such trusting people, so sure. They had to touch the Devil Snare to ascertain that it could kill.

"You can stay then," Teddy said begrudgingly. "Since you're Victoire's guest."

"I tried to find you," Digby called as Teddy began to retreat towards the porch. "The last month or so, I wanted to switch sides. I wanted to find you, but you sold the apartment and you weren't with your gran. It was like you'd vanished."

Teddy didn't say anything. He only trudged up the steps and threw open the door to Shell Cottage. Confronting Digby today was not his version of a pleasant surprise, and he was prepared to tell off Victoire the moment he was upstairs. Whether she thought she was doing him a favour or not, this was not how he wanted his wedding day to begin.

He knocked twice on Victoire's bedroom door, unsure as to whether he was allowed to see her. When she didn't respond, he covered his eyes as if looking into a very bright light and pushed his way into the room.

"You know, it's bad luck or whatever for me to see you in your dress before—"

"Just drop your hand," Victoire said.

"I already feel like we've had a rotten start for today without the added superstition—"

"I don't _care_ about the dress, Teddy!"

Teddy dropped his hand, sure now that Victoire had been crying. He was right. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She was in a huge, lacy trumpet gown with a goblin made tiara on her head, and she looked the most unhappy he had ever seen her.

"I feel like we're making a horrible mistake," she said, her voice wavering.

"With your dress?" he replied. "Well, I agree somewhat."

"With all of this."

He sat on the bed beside her, his brow crumpled. She blinked at him for a few seconds then smiled, touching his hair. "You're my something blue."

"Do you want to call off the wedding?" he asked anxiously, his heart ballooning in his chest. Victoire sat back, recoiling her hand, the huge skirt of her gown billowing like a cloud.

"There's something I want to tell you," she said, steeling herself. To prepare, Teddy also readied himself, crossing his hands on his lap. "While I was in Romania, I sort of started something up with one of the handlers. It wasn't serious. It was just a one-night stand. We-we didn't even sleep together, technically. I mean, well, we sort of—"

"I don't need the details," Teddy said, flinging his hands up.

"He's here," Victoire added. "Dragomir. He arrived yesterday with the other handlers."

Teddy hesitated. "Are you in love with him?"

" _No,_ " Victoire gasped, appalled by the idea. She leaned across her bedspread, wrestling to move over her dress. "I'm in love with you. Even when I was in Romania, I was still in love with you. I just don't see why you want to marry me after I kept betraying your trust. "

He struggled for a moment, Victoire knew, because the next words he said were the words he had been denying so vehemently. "Vic, we were broken up. There's nothing for you to feel guilty about."

"No," she said, squeezing her eyes shut and collapsing back into her dress. "Even after I ran off, you were _loyal_ to me."

Probably down in the marquee by now, Digby would be sitting with an invitation in his hand secretly addressed to him by Victoire. The irony was not unnoticed.

"Remove any fantasies you have of my being some loyal moral cornerstone," Teddy said. "You were worried about my mental health, you tried to warn me that I was in too deep with the goblin rights movement, and I choose politics over you. I ignored your advice, I refused to listen to you because I thought I knew better. I shut you down. You had every right to leave. I was the one who betrayed _you_ first," Teddy said, bunching the quilt under his fingers. "So, I think the score is even. And if you still want to marry me, then I still want to marry you."

He stood up from the bed, with every intention of marching back down to the marquee and aggressively marrying Victoire before all their family and friends and distant acquaintances that they would struggle to name.

"Get me out of this dress," Victoire said quietly.

"What?"

"This is not how I wanted to marry you."

* * *

They were running twenty minutes late. Albus assured both Rose and Scorpius that this was fairly normal at weddings. Rose wasn't sure where he was getting this information from, considering he had never attended a wedding before.

Rose's curly hair was in a sleek up-style, twisted behind her neck. She was in an elegant, peach dress with a wrap around shawl to protect her from the cold. Albus had leant Scorpius a set of dressing robes, so they were in identical apparel, sitting on either side of Rose like a pair of body guards. Albus' robes had been a bit too small, and Hermione had stretched them for Scorpius with a bit of magic.

The crowd were beginning to get restless. The marquee was lined with rows of antique white chairs, facing the front, where a gauzy archway stood. Everyone was twitching in their chairs, looking around to catch sight of either the bride or groom.

Dominique legged it down the aisle and skidded into the row where most of her cousins sat, her purple dress billowing out behind her. She was panting hard. "You lot don't know where Victoire's gone, have you?"

Several heads snapped her way. Rose felt her face bleach of colour. "You don't know where she _is_?"

"I'm sure she'll be back any minute," Dominique piped up. "Maybe she went for a walk along the beach to calm her nerves."

"Well, have you checked the beach?" Hugo barked.

"Erm," Dominique blanched. "I'll check again."

Across the room, Bill Weasley was just as anxious. He pushed his way over to Harry, who had given up his post as best man and was now sitting casually beside Ron.

"Harry, have you _seen_ Teddy since Victoire went missing? No one can track him down."

Harry twiddled his glasses and shrugged. "I'm sure they're sorting things out. When they're ready, they'll come down."

"Yes, but Victoire is currently _wanted_ by the Ministry and she wasn't supposed to leave her room unescorted."

Harry shrugged once more, disgracefully nonchalant. Bill grunted and lumbered back down the aisle. The chatter rose.

"The bombs have been set," Harry said, lowering his voice and leaning into Ron's shoulder. "It's all in place."

"We were supposed to do that together," Ron muttered.

"I knew Ministry security would be low on Christmas. I took the opportunity."

"You really think the timing's right?" Ron frowned. "Hermione's just been fired. The Ministry is going haywire with those stupid posters of you. Maybe we should wait until things…"

"Calm down?" Harry raised his eyebrows and snorted. "Yeah, right."

Ron squinted back out at the restless crowd, drawing a shaky breath. "Do you really reckon Teddy and Victoire are just sweating it out?"

With a casual glance at his watch, Harry nodded. "Worse case scenario, they call off the wedding."

"Fleur will go mental," Ron breathed.

The worse case scenario drew closer at an appalling rate. Half an hour had passed, then a full hour. Still, neither the bride nor groom had shown up. There was a genuine thrum of fear now moving throughout the group. Charlie Weasley was checking the perimeter of Shell Cottage in case a boundary had been breached.

Then, just when the guests were contemplating leaving, Teddy sidled up to the decorated archway, windswept blue hair coordinated with his blue dressrobes. He grinned madly, smile tweaked from cheek to cheek. The guests were just realising that the groom had in fact arrived when Victoire appeared at the top of the aisle like an apparition, hanging off her father's arm, tiara askew.

Everyone stood.

* * *

The room had been transformed, tables now surrounded by the antique white chairs, filled with weepy and well fed guests. The wedding waltz had just begun, and as the lighting dimmed, the bride and groom moved into the centre of the silver dance floor, pulsating gently beneath their feet. The song began slowly, a raspy voice crooning over a piano. Teddy drew close to Victoire, whispering something into her ear so that she laughed, before resting her head on his shoulder.

 _"Oh my poor heart, where has it gone? It's left me for a spell. Was it burnt up by a fierce dragon, or did a Doxy's bite make it unwell?"_

"Oh, they chose a Celestina Warbeck," Scorpius said, sighing a little. "How lovely."

Albus pressed his lips together to keep from laughing, while Rose openly rolled her eyes. The couple swayed in time with Celestina's crooning, dazed and dreamy. Victoire murmured something against his shoulder.

James stared out at the married couple and grinned, looking incredibly pleased for the first time in ages. For once, his manic disposition had faded into something a bit more peaceable. He swayed in time with the music, gently, as if mimicking the beach grass in the sea breeze. After a little while, Harry stood and offered his hand to Teddy's grandmother Andromeda, who's eyes twinkled as she accepted the gesture. Harry led her to the dance floor, just as Bill and Fleur stood to join them. Slowly, the bridal couples drifted over to take up their positions in the waltz. Krishna danced with Digby, both refusing to take it very seriously; Dominique pulled up Fred, both dancing like professionals with their straight backs and elegant twirls.

The song suddenly picked up, a full band kicking in and the tempo raising the jazz ballad into something with a kick.

" _Yooo-u charmed the heart right out of me! Where it went to I'm blowed if I know. Did you levitate it into a tree? Or feed it to a passing Grindylow?"_

Victoire tossed her head back, laughing as Teddy sung her the words, in what would have been a tone-deaf rendition.

 _"Oh, come and stir my cauldron and if you do it right, I'll brew you up some hot, strong love to keep you warm tonight."_

James turned back to his table, examining the faces of his siblings and cousins. Lily had her head resting against her hand, staring wistfully at the bride and groom. Upon seeing this expression, James nudged Lysander in the ribs. "Mate, do us a favour and go ask my sister to dance."

Lysander, who had been humming along with the music, smiled warmly and got to his feet. He rounded the table and bowed slightly, extending his open palm to the fourteen-year-old girl, who was completely taken by surprise. "Oh," Lily said, brushing away her fringe and looking absolutely gratified. "Well, I suppose one slow dance would be nice. Thank you, Lysander."

As they moved over to the dance floor, Lorcan also got out of his seat, bowing before James before extending his hand in the same way his older brother had. "Would you do me the pleasure, sir James?"

"The pleasure is all mine, sir Lorcan," James replied, taking his hand and walking towards the dance floor. Their elaborate waltz, in which Lorcan took the lead, garnered a few laughs from the surrounding tables.

The room was elegant, filled with fluttering light and beautiful music. Rose pressed her lips together, blinking back a few tears. It was silly, really, but the entire event had never made her feel so full. Of hope. Of love. How could there be any confusion or hurt in the world when moments of utter purity could persist? She watched her grandparents dance, her grandpa's glasses having slid down his long nose to reveal blue eyes just as wet as hers. He stared at Rose' grandma in the same way Teddy stared at Victoire, and it only confirmed that love persisted beyond pain, beyond suffering, beyond the tests of time.

Dabbing at the corner of her eye to stop any makeup from running, Rose turned away from the dancing couples. As she did, she caught Scorpius' eye. He had been watching her, intently, without her knowing. His stare and her giddiness reminded her of another time, where they had first promised to be friends, foxtrotting on the eve of a New Year, under the glass ceiling of his greenhouse.

The look in his grey eyes suggested that he was going over the exact same memory in his head. He smiled privately and turned away, too. Rose hastily got to her feet, grabbing her brother's hand. He seemed surprised, if somewhat reluctant.

"C'mon, I want to dance with my brother."

"Er," Hugo said as he was dragged to his feet. "Is this because you're feeling sentimental?"

"Shut up and just act like we're siblings for five minutes, alright?"

With a huff, Hugo allowed himself to be led to the dance floor with his older sister, where she clasped his hands and began to slowly rotate in time with the music. Hugo said something and she pulled a face, but otherwise, the two of them appeared to be getting along for once.

This only left Albus and Scorpius at the table, admiring the colourful dress robes on the crowd. Victoire's white dress fanned out as she twirled under Teddy's arm. His hair turned a bright indigo when she leaned in to kiss him. They were radiant and bright in a way that had nothing to do with colour.

Albus took a gulp of his beer, offering it to Scorpius. He shook his head absently, staring at the dance floor. "I don't drink," he added, to clarify that this was not a rude snub. Albus smiled, taking another gulp before also examining the guests assembled at the party.

The slow dancing had transitioned into a much faster number now and it was a song not recognised by most of the parents in pairs. Instead, Molly Weasley came running onto the now pulsing pink and purple dance floor to join Dominique and Fred, who were jumping along to a song that could only be called alternative.

" _With a sip of Liquid Luck I'll be in your good books. Darlin' don't be speechless, it's not a good look. I've been told, old Felix will paint you goooo-oooo-ooooold_."

Victoire and Teddy both tipped their heads back, singing the last word as it was repeated in an even more elongated way.

Everyone began to jump, hands above their heads, swinging their hair back and forth. Victoire and Teddy looked as if someone had slipped a trampoline beneath them. James was dancing like he had been hit with the Tarantallegra jinx, his legs moving wildly. The lights pulsed and everyone yelled along the words, the less courageous parents sidling off the dance floor while Fleur and Bill continued to bop to the music in an out-of-time fashion.

"It's the Ministry of Madness' first song to ever make it big on the charts," Albus said, as way of explanation. "It's what broke them out of the playing-in-Liverpool-garages-scene."

Scorpius sipped his water, staring at the howling dancers in bewilderment.

"You don't really relate to people your own age, do you?"

Scorpius shook his head slowly, smiling a little in spite of himself. It was not just his uptight abstemiousness and painful rule-following that made it hard for most teenagers to relate; Scorpius often failed at small talk, unable to come up with a topic that wasn't Herbology, Potions or politics. He was entirely _too_ well read, knowing facts and quoting literature that were otherwise unheard of. He listened to Celestina Warbeck for Heaven's sake. He was like a reclusive fifty-year-old aristocrat stuck in the gangly body of a seventeen year old.

"I grew up around adults," Scorpius said, readjusting himself so he was facing Albus properly. "I grew up in this huge house with my grandparents and house-elves for company. We had famous dignitaries over for dinner and I spent my free time with stuffy aunts and uncles. I read a lot, because there were always books in the study. I'm smart because I'm sheltered. You know Rose, she's really bright, but she's not smart like I am. I'm book-smart. Rose is…" Scorpius trailed off, staring at Rose, who was dancing with both the Scamander twins, her wild hair having come out of its bun. Albus took a sip of beer to fill the silence. "Rose is street-smart, you know? Sharp, quick-witted, good on her feet. Resourceful."

"It explains a lot about you," Albus acknowledged, staring at all the guests. "We grew up with an endless supply of cousins, always segregated to the kids table. I think most of my cousins still haven't outgrown that."

Scorpius picked up his glass of water, tipping it to clink against Albus' beer. He smiled wryly. "Well, according to Lupin, I'm your fourth cousin once removed. So I guess I'm really family, after all."

"That's right," Albus agreed, grinning broadly. "Welcome to the family of madmen, where everyone stays a big kid forever."

"Sounds absolutely grand."

Rose, who arrived from the dance floor breathless, interrupted their lovely moment; her hair swept in a frizzy mess over one shoulder and her face glowed with sweat. She grabbed hold of Albus and Scorpius with each hand, dragging them out of their chairs.

"Let's have a dance!" she called, grinning so widely it looked like her cheeks would split.

Uneasiness flashed across Scorpius' face. "Er—I don't—"

"C'mon," Albus said, slinging an arm over his shoulders. "We're big kids after all, aren't we?"

Scorpius smiled wirily again, rolling his eyes. "Fine. Let's go dance to dreadful music."

"Take back such offensive terms or I'll disown you," Rose called, dragging him into the centre of the dance floor, were the sheer number of people would disguise their terrible dance moves anyway. The song had switched to something by The Bent Winged Snitches that Scorpius vaguely recognised, which had connotations about doing drugs. He withheld his judgements and decided to dance, Albus and Rose bouncing beside him. Eyes closed, heads banging, hair flying in every direction.

It was just a moment, but everyone was together, happy and filled with joy. Grandma and grandpa Weasley had returned to their table with Andromeda, trying not to look too confused with the bizarreness of the music. Hermione and Ron were smuggling champagne glasses across to George and Angelina. The music pounded on until they hit an old Weird Sister's song, practically retro, which suddenly sent all the oldies into a frenzy. Ginny hauled Harry onto the dance floor, where they proceeded to do a routine that appeared to be memorised and which embarrassed Lily so thoroughly she left the tent with her hands over her face.

The night dwindled on in this fashion, with mad dancing and much cake and no matter where you looked—whether it was the dance floor, or the bridal table, or the bar—you would find Teddy and Victoire together, their arms interlinked, blissed out beyond comprehension.

* * *

The wedding waltz began, and as the lighting dimmed, the bride and groom moved into the centre of the silver dance floor. The song began slowly, a raspy voice crooning over a piano. Victoire stiffened slightly in Teddy's arms. Teddy leaned forward, his voice breaking as he whispered in Victoire's ear.

"Shit," he whispered, as Celestina Warbeck's voice began to croon. "Shit. They got the wrong song."

"I loathe Celestina Warbeck," Victoire agreed, laughing. She rested her head on Teddy's shoulder.

For the wrong bridal waltz music was just one of the very many things that had not gone their way on their wedding day. Victoire was wearing what she considered to be a hideous lace dress. The extravagant wedding cake was caramel and chocolate flavoured, even though Teddy hated caramel. Victoire had snapped the heel on her shoe, and was now dancing barefoot. The bridal waltz was wrong. The spectacle was being watched by over two hundred guests.

But it really didn't matter anymore.

For, the paper bag that Harry had given Teddy did not contain French pastries. Rather, it contained his Invisibility Cloak, neatly folded. Teddy had opened the bag in the hopes of offering his fiancé comfort food, and instead found their solution.

So, several hours earlier, Teddy and Victoire had snuck from the smallest bedroom in Shell Cottage, both under the Invisibility Cloak, and made their way down the beach until they were well outside of the wards. They then Apparated to a village in Scotland.

The bridal waltz was ending, and the rest of the bridal party was being invited up to dance as well. Neither of them noticed. Victoire's hands were still wrapped around Teddy's neck, and Teddy was humming in her ear.

They had found a wizarding officiate in Scotland, and grabbed a few witnesses from the pub near by, who vaguely recognised the beautiful blonde woman in a simple, white slip and the blue haired man beside her. But the witnesses were _quite_ drunk, and were sincerely happy to see the couple together, hand in hand.

They got married in a near-empty registry office, and then left to go and sit on the rippling green cliffs, where the wind whipped at their hair. They lay in the tall grass, the grey sky stretching over them like the roof of the blanket forts they built as children. They were free with abandon, more free than either had been in a very long time. And they were husband and wife.

All the rest of it didn't matter. This was just a party. They danced to the music that they had swapped and discovered throughout their youth. They drank fizzy champagne by the bar. They shoved disgusting caramel wedding cake into each other's mouths. They never left each other's sides.

There were speeches, and Teddy cried very hard throughout all of them, so that Victoire had to fish out a handkerchief. But it was after the speeches that Bill and Harry both cornered the couple with a thick, padded envelope in their hands.

"This was our joint gift for you both," Harry said, smiling wearily at Teddy's tears.

"Because we knew Grimmauld place would not be much of a venue for a Honeymoon," Bill added, handing over the envelope.

Victoire split the top of the envelope, extracting the itinerary for a holidays in Australia. She blinked at it in some surprise.

" _Australia_?" she said, almost affronted.

"For a month," Teddy added, sniffing over the sheet.

"You'll leave in two days time," Harry grinned. "Enjoy the summer there. Enjoy not having to be in hiding."

"Right," Victoire said slowly, slipping the itinerary back into the envelope. "Look, this was _really_ kind of you—"

Her refusal was interrupted by the tinkering of crystal, rising in the air like a woodpecker on glass. People were tapping their forks and spoons on their glasses, raised in Teddy and Victoire's direction. Flustered, they both leaned in to quickly kiss, and by the time they had leaned away, Bill and Harry had vanished back into the crowd.

* * *

Close to midnight, Victoire and Teddy had disappeared. Rose wondered if this had been intentional or not, and followed their lead, sneaking out the exit of the marquee with Scorpius trailing after her. Everyone was far too drunk and too excitable to notice their short absence, especially as the minutes ticked closer to midnight.

"New Years," she grinned, linking her fingers through his and dragging him through the tall grass. "Sort of fitting that a year ago we vowed to become friends."

"We've become a bit too friendly, so it seems," he agreed, lighting his wand so they could watch their steps.

The music and the laughter hummed behind them, and when they neared the edge of the cliff, they turned back to watch the party they had left behind. The tent glowed as, within, the dance floor changed colours, guests moving around inside so that they looked like silver moths flittering around a bulb.

It was chilly, but they felt warm blooded after the dancing and the drinks. Scorpius ran a hand over the side of her face, pulling her messy curls behind her ear. She leaned into his hand as the wind tore at their dress robes. The ocean crashed nearby, keeping up a constant howl. There was a muffled chorus from the tent as the counted down the last fifteen seconds.

"You've been so brash with me lately," he said. "Which is unlike you."

She grinned a little. The soft light from the marquee fell across his face, not hers, so her teeth only glimmered in the dark. "I can't help it. I sort of want to shout it out from the rooftops."

"Hm? Shout what out from the rooftops?"

Fireworks whistled up from the beach below and exploded into the air, lighting up the sky with a rainbow of colours. Sparks flew out and sizzled back down to the earth. There were cheers and clamouring from across the swaying grass. Rose took his hand and led it away from her cheek, instead resting it flat against her chest, where her heart was beating wildly. She leaned in to kiss him, his hand pressed tight to her thumping chest. And when she leaned back, their faces were lit up by the colours of the Weasley Whiz-Bangs high above.

That's what the last few months had felt like with him. Being in love was like seeing the world in technicolour. Like every touch would ignite fireworks. It was the whiz before the bang. It was the feeling of his hand pressed tight over her heart.

"That's the feeling. I wish I could shout that feeling off the rooftops," she said, as another firework exploded overhead.

No one would notice that they had vanished, not for a little while longer at least, so Scorpius leaned in and kissed her again.

* * *

"This day has been a complete mess," Victoire sighed, bunching up the hideous lace train of her wedding dress. Teddy trailed after her, his dress shoes kicking up sand. He toed them off and threw them in the direction of the path that cut through the cliff ace. The moon hung low, a waning crescent that winked down at them from the sky.

"I think the moment we started dating, we both had to accept that every day would be a complete mess."

Victoire grinned at him, taking his hand in hers. They waddled into the water, feet conforming to the rivets in the rocks. The water was cold and icy, like glass in their feet. The garish wedding dress rose like seafoam around their ankles.

Victoire knotted her fingers into Teddy's blue hair. "I love you," she said quietly. "But I'm worried this was a mistake."

"Getting married?"

"No," she chortled, giving her head a little shake. "Although I glad the _wedding_ bit is over. No, I meant our timing. It looks like the Order are trying to get rid of us over the next month."

"Ah yes," Teddy said raising his eyebrows. "It does look like they want us both _very_ far away."

"I think they're going to attack the Ministry."

The water was turning their toes to ice. Teddy took Victoire's hand and led her back towards the sand.

"I'll make sure we're not kept out of the loop," Teddy said quietly. "But I want to enjoy this with you. I want us to enjoy a bit of time where we feel safe."

There was a high, crackling whizz nearby, followed by an explosive bang. They both jumped, gripping one another—wandless and defenseless. The burst of sparks was not a spell though. They were fireworks, positioned only metres up the beach, that now exploded overhead. Victoire's hands jumped to her ears as the second round went off. She looked up at the sky, craning her neck back.

"Well," Teddy said, lowering her hands. "We might as well start the New Year with a bang."

Victoire grinned and leaned in to kiss her husband. Their ears popped as the fireworks crackled and cracked above them, colouring the water with dazzling light.

* * *

 **A/N: I finished watching the Office this weekend and this wedding is slightly based on Jim and Pam's little get away, what can I say.**

 **Also, do I have any idea where the political plot is going anymore? Haha, nope.**

 **Finally, I'm making a short film! Details in my profile. So I have very little free time. Hence, delays should be expected. Nonetheless, even if I don't have time to reply, I read all your reviews! :)**

 **Much love x**


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**—** **CHAPTER THIRTEEN—**

Scorpius and Rose rode together on the train back to Hogwarts. His head rested on the glass panel, bobbing against window as the train jostled. Rose sat opposite him, her legs stretched out across so they rested on the seat. They had had New Year's Day to recover from the wedding, but they were still exhausted. A good sort of exhausted, the way you feel after spring-cleaning when all the dust has been lifted and the sheets are drying on the clothesline. They offered one another tired smiles. There was no need for talk, something that Scorpius appreciated. They shared their indolence.

Albus was supposed to join them, but he had decided to find Imogen instead so he could "straighten things out". Rose wasn't the least bit sure what that even meant.

The frosted door slid open and a silky black head poked into the compartment.

"Rose—Oh," Isabella squeaked, as if she had just discovered a mouse. Her head sprung between Scorpius and Rose, who remained on their opposite seats, too tired to react in any way. "Scorpius," Isabella blinked. "Didn't you—" she hesitated. "Didn't you spend the holidays at the castle?"

Their guards were down, and they had forgotten. Forgotten that they were a secret, forgotten that Scorpius was _supposed_ to have never left the castle. It was not as if they were caught kissing or holding hands—for such shows of affection happened occasionally and in private, in any case. But there was a familiarity to them now, a sense of growing ease. It was hard to miss how comfortable they were in the other's presence. It was easy to hide kissing and handholding—for they both knew that these things needed to be hidden—but their affinity was so natural it was invisible to their own eyes.

"I ended up spending a day or two in Diagon Alley," Scorpius invented, with a helpless little shrug. "I needed to pick up some potion ingredients."

"They let you just leave without a permission slip?"

"Already seventeen," he smirked. He nodded towards Rose casually. "Ran into Weasley this morning."

Scorpius' duffle bag bounced on top of the rack above him, something incriminating. He tried not to look at it, because otherwise, the lie felt flawless. But he knew Isabella—he had known her for his whole life—and he knew that she wasn't buying it. She glanced between them once more, stepped into the compartment and slid the door shut behind her. Then, she primly took a seat, knees tucked together. Rose sat up, as if a teacher had entered a classroom.

"I wanted to talk about that drill we had," she said in a low voice. "Before Christmas."

At least, it was the initial topic of conversation.

"I don't think we're safe in Slytherin," Isabella said quietly, her eyes darting between Rose and Scorpius, expecting them to do something about it. "We and the Hufflepuffs have underground common rooms."

"Is this really bothering you?" Scorpius frowned, also sitting up. "Honestly, Belle. Professor Longbottom has hardened the soil all around the perimeter of the school. It's impossible for a goblin to even break the surface let alone tunnel."

"I've overheard things this Christmas," she said, her watery pug eyes glancing between both Rose and Scorpius. "I think we need a contingency plan."

She refused to say what she had heard, but Scorpius seemed to take this seriously, so Rose did as well. Talk turned to the possibility of setting up a watch from each year group if the threat became more auspicious, ways for quick escape that involved smashing the windows and trying to get to the surface of the lake with a Bubble-Head Charm. It was the first time Rose and Isabella had talked without bickering or resentment in a very long while. They exhausted the topic until their speculations had run wild.

Then, talked turned to the Ministry of Magic. "Dad's had goblins raid our Ministry vault twice," Isabella said. "And he thinks they're taking an inventory."

"An inventory?"

"Of goblin made artefacts," Isabella replied. "Gladstone's idea. Dad reckons it's the last straw. They raided your vault too," she added, nodding to Scorpius.

"On what _grounds_?"

Isabella pulled a face. "Have you written home at all this Christmas?"

Scorpius avoided the question. "This is absolutely mental."

" _Gladstone's_ gone absolutely mental," Rose muttered. "He fired my mum before Christmas. And apparently he's firing everyone in his top offices."

"Gladstone's become as tyrannical as he is paranoid," Scorpius reasoned, waving away the food trolley as it passed. "And the militia he built to protect himself…"

"The goblin militia," Rose snorted, using her fingers to caption the word in air quotes. "You mean the thugs that were against him a couple years ago."

"The thugs that are against their own king," Scorpius corrected.

"They're going to revolt," Rose finished, her stomach flipping. And this was not speculation. This was fact. She had heard this from the horse's mouth at Bellucci's Christmas Party. "They're going to overthrow our government."

"And I'm guessing their monarchy," Isabella added, leaning back against her seat. Beside her, Scorpius fiddled with the sleeve of his jumper. The two girls looked at him expectantly, waiting to hear his verdict. Scorpius had always navigated these conversations easily, with confidence, as if he alone had all the answers.

He looked up at them both, pale eyes like mirrored moons, unfocused and silver. He responded with a genuine question.

"If they overthrow the monarchy and government, what are they supposed to replace the system with?"

"Anarchy," Teddy grinned, throwing his yellow trousers into their suitcase. The moment Victoire began to roll her eyes, he raised his hands to try and stop her, as if he could capture her scepticism and throw it back at her. "Just hear me out, alright?"

"I'm listening," she sighed, closing the wardrobe.

Whenever Teddy returned from a shift spying at the Ministry of Magic, he was usually thrumming with these ideas. He had talked for half an hour during the last Order meeting—which had been right before Christmas—and his talk had only inspired alarm from their parents. But Teddy was excited by the prospect of a rebellion. In fact, Victoire was beginning to think he was enjoying being a goblin, inhabiting their body, thinking their thoughts. It had been the only escape he had from the house other than occasional shifts at an ice cream parlour.

"Overthrow Gladstone. Overthrow the Goblin King. You eliminate the world's magical leaders and we form a heterarchy. A horizontal power structure where we all have an equal role—stop rolling your eyes!"

Victoire smirked, toying with Teddy's blue hair. "This is the most Hufflepuff thing I've _ever_ heard you say."

"Hufflepunk represent."

"Hufflepunk was never a thing, Teddy."

"It caught on."

"You and Digby embroidered your robes with badgers. It was not punk," Victoire said slowly. "It was arts and crafts."

At the mention of Digby, both Teddy and Victoire blanched. They hadn't brought up his old best mate—even after his appearance at the wedding. Teddy turned away, looking at the sprawling clothes and the swimming costumes on the bed, all the honeymoon attire they were supposed to have packed yesterday.

"You shouldn't have invited him," Teddy said, giving Victoire a sidelong glance.

"I thought you would have wanted him there," she said. "Especially when you look back on it all."

Teddy grunted, throwing his swimming costume into the suitcase. She could tell she had struck a nerve. She cleared her throat and tried to restore his mood. "So, a horizontal power structure."

"A horizontal power structure," Teddy agreed with zeal. He was so animated that he flung a pair of socks across the room by accident. He scrambled after them. "I mean, we overthrow those in charge and redistribute power equally. That was the problem all along, see? I thought we could correct the systemic inequalities _within_ the system, but we need to _overthrow_ the system. No Gladstone, no crazy tyranny."

"Hang on," Victorie frowned. "Didn't you want to overthrow Kingsley to get Gladstone?"

"I just explained that I now want to overthrow the system," Teddy said, taking both of Victoire's hands in his and giving them a little shake. "Not the people."

"There's a lot of overthrowing taking place in this discussion."

Teddy sighed and took a seat on the creaky bed, upsetting a cloud of dust from the bedspread. He would not miss Grimmauld Place one bit. He wrapped his arms around Victoire's waist and pulled her towards him. They stared at the muddy canvas of Phineas Nigellus Black, who was no longer in the frame. Victoire leaned her head against Teddy's.

"I'd prefer it if you don't overthrow anything, Teddy."

"Well," he replied, "with any luck we won't need to. The Elite Squad will look after all that."

"The overthrowing? See, I'm a bit suspicious of a group of rebel militia thugs overthrowing a corrupt government," Victoire wheedled. "Aren't you?"

Teddy tsked and shook his head, frustrated that his excitement was not being reciprocated. "They're not just thugs. They'll be protecting the working goblins during all this. That's what the miners are striking for. If you heard Welgruk describe it, you'd understand."

Victoire nodded half-heartedly, tossing the toiletry bag into the suitcase. With the hiss of a zipper, she closed it up. All of his jabbering had given her the impression that Teddy might _miss_ working at the Ministry as a goblin.

"It'll be like the Makhnovists!"

"What?"

"Makhnovia in Ukraine. The muggles," Teddy added, but Victoire only squinted at him suspiciously.

"I think you let Welgruk fill your head with ideas," she sighed, hunkering the suitcase onto the floor. "Makhnovia only lasted three years."

Teddy scoffed, jumping off the bed and collecting the suitcase in his hands. He motioned for Victoire to go ahead of him, and with a petulant little look, she walked ahead onto the landing. Before Teddy had followed, a snide voice came from the corner of the picture frame hanging on the wall. "She has a point, you know."

They headed down the creaky, narrow stairs together, creeping past the curtained portrait in the hall, and headed towards the basement kitchen. Teddy carried the suitcase in his arms to avoid making any noise.

"Imagine coming home in a month," he whispered excitedly, "to find all this mess had been put to rest."

"It's almost too hard to imagine," Victoire teased, pushing into the kitchen.

She came to an abrupt halt, and Teddy collided with her, the suitcase smacking into her back. Harry had been the only person in the kitchen that morning, yet it was now crowded with people, which were not immediately recognisable to Teddy but clearly familiar with Victoire. Every face turned to her.

"There she is," said a woman with two long braids and a thick Bulgarian accent. "Our _drakon_ slayer."

"Ah, yes," Victoire said with a shaky laugh, one that was high and unsettled. "I suppose I have one scar now."

"And a brilliant story to tell," said another, a man who was familiar—Krishna's date at the wedding. Sure enough, Krishna was right beside him, wearing dark robes, her black hair braided back like it used to be in fifth year. Teddy's eyes scanned the room. Another tall, thickly set man that was almost Hagrid's size and who had not said a word. And, speaking to Harry in a low voice, Victoire's Uncle Charlie. So, these were the handlers.

"Hullo," Teddy said, his voice breaking as he popped the suitcase on the floor. "I suppose I haven't properly met you all."

"Ah, Victoire's husband," the Bulgarian woman chortled, striding across the room to kiss his cheeks heartily. "I feel like I know you well. But I was at your wedding, yes?" she patted his cheek affectionately. "I am Sylvia, and that there is Dragomir. The rest I think you know."

"And the reason you're here?" Victoire added.

"We transporting one of the baby Antipodean Opaleyes back to Australia," Charlie piped up, moving back into the centre of the room. "Mind you, he's not a baby anymore. We thought you lot may as well come with us. What safer way is there to travel than by dragon?"

Teddy could imagine many safer ways, but he held his tongue.

"I told you I had made the arrangements," Harry said with a coy smile.

This was not how they imagined starting their honeymoon. Krishna explained that they had the dragon container out in Salisbury Plain, and they would Apparate there and fly the rest of the way. The handlers began prepping to leave, taking a few packages of food on the tables and shrugging their backpacks on before heading back out of the kitchen. As Dragomir passed, he leaned down and picked up the newlywed's suitcase as if it was a feather before leaving the room.

"That's Dragomir?" Teddy whispered once the handlers had left. "Jeez, no wonder you didn't actually shag him. That bloke would have torn you to pieces."

 _"_ _Teddy_."

 _"_ _What_ Victoire? He's literally seven foot tall. The very idea of it is frightening."

Teddy pretended to shudder and then laughed, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. She smiled and leaned into him.

"Are you two ready then?" Charlie Weasley grinned, his eyes creasing in the corners. "It'll be a long trip."

"We're ready," Teddy said. He turned back to Harry, who he hugged tightly, the way you might hug someone you'll never see again. " _Please_ write us if anything happens."

Harry sighed, planting his hands on his hips. "I dunno, you two. I think once you're out of the country, we'll have a nice, quiet start to he year."

They both pulled faces and thanked Harry a final time before they, too, were following Charlie out, without even a suitcase to worry about. For the first time in months, Grimmauld Place was truly quiet again. The house creaked in odd little bursts but there was no muffled chatter or clanking pipes or footsteps creeping up the stairs.

Getting Teddy and Victoire out of the way eased his mind a little. Soon, Harry would have carried out their assault on the Ministry, and he couldn't completely trust that Teddy would stay on their side.

Harry eased himself into one of the straight-backed seats along the table in the house he truly loathed. The Invisibility Cloak was tucked inside his robes, pressed against his chest, the spot where he always kept it when it wasn't being used. During the late nights where he waited nervously in the Ministry of Magic Atrium, hiding beneath the Cloak as the last few Hit Wizards headed for the fireplaces, Harry often imagined disappearing under the Cloak and disappearing for _good_. Just like the story of the Three Brothers. He would evade death for years, swathed in the Cloak, until he had peacefully lived out his days and was ready to give it up. What he would give for a little bit of peace, and a clear conscience.

Just as he leaned into the table, head in his hands, he heard the front door crash open. Harry stumbled out of his chair, the portrait of Sirius' mother erupting into screams as someone crashed through the hallway. It may have been one of the kids, having forgotten something, but Harry knew in the split second the commotion began it was not. He had drawn his wand by the time the door had opened, throwing out a Shield Charm.

Selima leaned against the doorway, her face bloodied and drooping under prickling boils. Harry had seen her only a day before, leaving the wedding in her elegant gown, a twinkle in her eye. Now, it looked as if part of her face was melting away under the work of a hex.

"Tedby," she said, the words coming out thick as they worked through her dislocated jaw.

"He's left." Harry had already crossed to her. The condition of her face suggested Dark Magic. He gingerly touched her cheek and she flinched away.

"Ralph ib gone," she said through her swollen lips. "They twabbed me when I leb the wedding."

Selima wasn't panicky or frightened. She leaned into the doorframe for support, but her posture almost seemed indifferent. Harry slid an arm under her and felt all her weight resting on him. "They got us all," she said, the red spittle pooling at her lip. "All theb werewolves. I wab the only one who got away."

Harry felt something in his stomach tighten. They were going to be too late.

* * *

There were six of them, so there was no use for the Cloak beyond the first stage of the operation. Still, Harry had it tucked inside his robes. There would be little time, and without Hermione working at the Ministry, there would be no inconspicuous way to get in or out. That had been the plan originally. She would set off the bombs under the pretence she had forgotten something in her office. Deep down, he felt it had to be him. It wasn't as if they had much time.

It was well after eight o'clock, and the workday had well and truly ended. The Ministry atrium was empty, except for the four security goblins stationed at the elevator, as they had been, on hourly shifts, for the last few weeks. They wore thick armour and held short stubby wands of the exact same style and make. The fountain burbled uncomfortably.

Harry returned to the furthermost fireplace after some short reconnaissance, where the other five were still huddled. Carefully, he stepped into the niche and pulled the cloak down to his shoulders, revealing his face.

"Everything is set," he muttered. "I suggest we do the Bubble Head Charms now."

"Are you sure about this Harry?" Neville murmured. "We weren't supposed to go about this until at least midnight. There might still be Unspeakables downstairs."

"We can't wait," Harry insisted. "I'm not letting werewolves under our protection get murdered."

"Give me the Cloak," Ginny whispered, plucking it off his shoulder. He pulled away from her, eyes wide. "C'mon, _Harry_. I'm quicker and quieter than you. Give me the Cloak."

"I planted the bombs."

"And I am aware of where you planted them," Ginny hissed. She pressed her hand against his invisible arm, squeezing it tightly as she leaned in. "And if we get caught, an act of terrorism will look better coming from me than you."

She kissed him quickly, her mouth warm and sour, and by the time Harry had pulled back, she had whipped the Cloak off of him and shrouded herself in it. Then, she was truly gone.

"Go," Hermione mouthed, holding up her wand.

The Bubble Head Charm had been Luna's idea, a stroke of genius. The bombs had been Ron's, and it was not one of his proudest suggestions. Hermione had been responsible for making them. In the time it took them to conjure up the bubbles around their heads, a blast was heard across the room, echoing at a low rumble. Cloudy, blue smoke seeped out across the Atrium like a fog, followed by the sound of thick, clanging thumps on the floor. The five of them raced across the hall squinting through the smoke, only to find Ginny already in the elevator, holding the doors. Her face looked set behind her own Bubble, and the security goblins were knocked out at her feet. They crammed themselves into the elevator and hit number nine. The doors clanged shut.

Luna was the first to break her charm, dissolving the protection around her mouth and nose. "Just out of curiosity," she said dottily, turning to Hermione, "how long will they be asleep for?"

"Several hours, I expect," she said, licking her lips. "And the gas won't dissolve for a few more hours, so anyone who enters the Atrium and gets a whiff of it will also fall asleep."

"Brilliant, really. Dispersing a potion as a gas," Ron said quietly, sliding a tense arm around Hermione. "Surprised no one's ever thought of that. Knocked them right out."

Hermione twitched at this. She cleared her throat and turned away, staring astutely at Neville's shoulder. Harry could imagine why. There was nothing truly brilliant about it. Muggles had banned similar weapons. But they couldn't get a dent in the goblin-made armour with spells, and their best chance was to target the goblin's vulnerabilities otherwise.

Harry dug in his robe pockets and procured the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder bought from George's shop, readying himself for the gauntlet of goblins stationed on level nine. This is where things would get tricky. He felt the others ready themselves, wands in hand.

The elevator came to a halt and they all held their breath.

The hallway beyond was empty. The black tiles on the walls reflected the bluish light of the torches and threw back the sound of their echoing footsteps. The black door at the very end leered at them, reminding Harry of the last time he had come down here. That had been a terrible mistake. Sirius had died when the Order arrived to rescue them. Now, he was a part of the Order trying to do the rescuing.

"I'm having the most peculiar sense of déjà vu," Luna murmured.

"There should be guards," Neville said, nervously raising his wand. There was a glean of sweat on his face. Ginny gave his shoulder a squeeze.

"Maybe we got lucky," she offered. She looked ahead at the black door at the very end of the hallway. They all started towards it, expecting an Elite Squad goblin to appear at any moment. "Same as last time. We try each door until we find the Death Room."

"And if we were wrong?" Ron proffered. "If they're not in there?"

Harry pushed against the thick, black door and felt it give under his hand like a greeting. "They will be."

* * *

After dinner, Albus and Scorpius clandestinely swept Rose through the Entrance Hall and out into the brisk, wet grounds. The snow blanketed the slopes down towards Hagrid's hut and the lake looked like ice. Albus and Scorpius insisted that they had something very important to show Rose, despite her protests as they crunched down the hill.

"Professor Longbottom wasn't at dinner tonight," Scorpius said, diminishing the light of his wand discreetly as they passed Hagrid's hut—when they had left the castle, Hagrid had still been in the Great Hall. "So this might be our best chance without having to waste the Invisibility Potion."

"Best chance to do what?" Rose prompted suspiciously.

"To give you your Christmas gift."

Perhaps Rose _should_ have been preoccupied with Professor Longbottom's mysterious absence that evening, but both the boys were being so mischievous that she couldn't help but follow them into the forest, where the chill only grew and the path was littered with nettles and melting snow. If there was one thing she loved, it was suspense. They followed the path tightly in single-file, all their wands at the ready and lit. Creatures scurried away from their feet as they moved by, and when they passed the empty Thestrals Paddock, they could hear the chilling sound of crunching leaves.

As always, being in the forest—especially at night—gave such a kick of adrenalin that they were all exceptionally jumpy. Scorpius' wand was pointed at the ground to make sure they knew where their feet were treading; Albus kept his eyes on the trees in front of them and Rose was watching their backs. In any case, they ran into no troubles, and it was only at the last ten minutes that they deviated from the path. Rose now knew for certain where they were heading, and her expectations weren't disappointed when she saw the unearthly, golden glow bending through the low brambles and branches.

"Oh, this is why you two were going missing all of last term," she said, now shoving at Scorpius to pick up the pace.

They entered the clearing with The Refuge Tree, and as they stepped into the perfect ring of light, the chill biting at their exposed fingers and faces suddenly eased up. In fact, it was warm and summery in the clearing, and the gold light leaking from the sap-filled runes made it feel like daylight. Carefully, Rose stepped over the roots fanning from the centre of the tree, some as thick as both her thighs, others spindly and thin like arms, then rested one hand on the trunk, head tilted back.

The loose ladder they had attached to the topmost branches was gone, and replaced instead by looping roots that curved out of the tree like ladder rungs, impossibly high, leading up to what looked to be—

"A tree house?" she blinked, catching the bottom of it through the canopy. "Are the centaurs okay with you doing this to their sacred sapling?"

But she didn't wait for an answer. She was already grabbing onto the first few rungs, and with a certainty that had more to do with the warmth of the bark than her own skills, she started climbing. Albus followed beneath her, and Scorpius after him. By the time she reached the platform, thick and connected to the branches, she was giddy with adrenalin. She helped the boys up after her.

The treehouse was more than just a treehouse. It was the tree itself, growing around the panelled platform floor to weave into a basket-like frame that felt like a bird's nest. They were at the top of the canopy, their heads brushing the leaves. When Rose grabbed onto the branches and pushed her head over them, she had a perfect, bird's eye view of the entire grounds. She could see the castle, majestic with its glowing gold windows. The lake was laid out like a glassy sheet and the Whomping Willow tossed its branches like a little spider withering on its back. The snow tipped treetops rustled back towards Hagrid's cabin, which looked like a toy house, and behind her, the mountains circled like grey-clad hunchbacks. Above her, she could see a million stars, the pale passage of the Milky Way rippling like a river. She dropped back down onto the platform, the thin branches above her rustling.

"This is phenomenal," she breathed, turning back to the boys. They were both grinning knowingly. " _How_?"

"Actually," Albus said, tucking his hands under his armpits. "It wasn't really us."

"We duplicated one of the wooden panels from the path Hagrid made," Scorpius said, gesturing back from the direction they had come. "And we managed to get it up here between the thickest branches like a platform. We were just going to secure the rope ladder and leave."

"But the tree," Albus said, sliding his fingers around the thick, roping branches that circled the floor. "It's like it had a mind of its own."

"It just started growing around the platform. And it created the rungs for us when we came down. We had brought our broomsticks to get up here the first time," Scorpius added.

Rose took a seat on the floor, her back against the natural wall surrounding her. They were up so high that her heart was buzzing like a bird. Albus took out a flask from his robes and passed it to her, and she took a sip. Firewhiskey.

Scorpius glanced at his wristwatch and then back at the forest floor. This was then followed by an exchange between he and Albus, both raised eyebrows and little nods. Rose was almost rabid with the suspense. She passed the flask back to Albus. "What?"

"You were right," Scorpius said, tucking his hands into his pockets, "about there being a prophecy."

* * *

The first room they entered was not the Death Room, but it was not a room they recognised. Long, dark and rectangular, it was filled with phials containing what appeared to be pickled organic material floating in a thick, green substance. There were at least a dozen shelves, in a long row, each reminding Harry of a Potion Master's classroom. They were all labelled. _European Rabbit – 44_. _Hippogriff – 50. Human (magical) – 46. Human (muggle) – 46._ Nervously, they progressed into the room, lighting their wands.

The wall opposite had caught Harry's eye. It was stocked with small, round, black bottles, each marked with a little skull. He picked one up and turned the potion over in his hands. In silver script at the bottom of the bottle were the words _for the consumption of malfunctioning magical beings._

"Chromosomes?" Hermione whispered, from across the room. She was waking past the last shelf, lit wand aloft. "I don't understand why they'd map— _Oh."_

She took several quick steps back, colliding with Neville, then flung a hand up to her mouth. "Squibs," she burst out, her eyes wide. "The DNA of Squibs. And Werewolves. And House-elves."

Fury reared in Harry, so intense that for a moment he felt blinded. He was still clutching the little black bottle, round and demure that it could have been perfume. These were the potions that had been made to kill the Werewolves—painless and quick. _Merciful_. The entire wall was filled with them, stocked neatly to the roof. Harry took out his wand, and before anyone could stop him, he had pointed it at the shelf and yelled, " _Reducto_!"

The glasses shattered, raining down the dark blue potion along with the black glass. Hermione screamed and took several steps away. Ron ran forward to grab Harry as the shards tinkered across the floor. He moved restlessly towards the door, impatient to find the Death Room. Even if they were all dead, he was determined to bring back their bodies. He felt something slick and cold churn in him, an inhuman feeling. He was out with the others on his heels, drawing a red cross over the door before it had even shut. The next moment, the room began to spin dizzily.

He let Ginny choose the next door, which refused to open, so they immediately crossed it off as the Ever-Locked Room before moving on to the next. This time, they got lucky. They stumbled into the gloom of the Death Chamber, the stone tiers steeply cascading towards the pit in the centre, where the dais stood. The room was as dank as it was dark, with a strong smell of rotting meat that did not bode well. It was too dark to make much out, but Harry's eyes were first drawn to the bones arranged around the dais in a strange formation, some protruding in and out of the archway with its fluttering curtain. But as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he felt a drop in his stomach, for there were bones _everywhere_ —piled neatly along tiers, crunched and broken into dust. Human bones.

"Harry," Ron said quietly, grabbing his arm. Hermione let out a little squeak. "We need to go."

How could they have reduced them to human bones? The potion merely put them into a never-ending sleep. It made no sense.

" _Harry_ ," Hermione said sharply.

Something slithered in the dark, something that moved over the bones like they were dead leaves. Everyone was backing hastily up the tiers, towards the door, feet hastening backwards until they came to a stop at the very top. A large, purple eye slit open, staring up at them.

They froze. The eye blinked.

It belonged to an enormous, fifteen foot Hebridean Black dragon. Its entire body was curled around the circumference of the room, its spiked tail finishing up only a few feet away from them.

"Make no sudden movements," Luna whispered, sliding her wand into her right hand. The dragon sleepily cocked its head towards them, shifting. Perhaps it had never been fed a human being while its prey was alive. Bones cracked and scattered beneath its large feet as it began to move. Hermione's breath came in short, quick bursts.

In a blast of sound, the dragon launched itself at the steps where they stood, forcing them to dive out of the way. Stone crumbled a few tiers beneath them. They scattered, running for the door. A thick, black tale lashed out at them like a jumping rope, catching Neville at the back of his head. He gasped, swung himself around to fire a hex, but didn't stop to check the damage. Ginny was already grabbing hold of him and pulling him up the last few steps. They were flinging open the door and stumbling through when a blast of fire so hot it singed their hairs came tunnelling through the entrance chamber. They slammed the door shut, panting heavily. Ron stamped out the fire caught on the end of his robes. The back of Neville's hair was soaked with blood, and Luna was rushing over to inspect it.

But Harry was distracted by the open door.

"You really couldn't resist, could you Potter?" Grigarex scowled, standing by the entrance, with a wizard and a witch behind him.

Harry didn't wait—he already fired his first curse—but Grigarex's armour simply deflected it.

"Get the Minister," Grigarex told the hit-witch on his right. He pulled out a long, thin wand.

There was a charge of spells. Both Luna and Ginny simultaneously moved forward, firing Stunners at the hit-witch while Hermione and Ron duelled the wizard. The hit witch—Claudia Coy—made a break for the exit, and the two women pursued, chasing her to the elevator. The pops of their spells carried from the hallway. Meanwhile, the wizard had been cornered on the opposite side of the room, and with few options left, he fled through a door. Hermione and Ron followed.

Harry couldn't focus on what they were doing. Unlike other goblins he had encountered, Grigarex was skilled with a wand. His did not appear to be mass-manufactured, but rather bonded to him. They danced seamlessly in their duel.

Harry sent another hex at Grigarex, trying to aim for his neck, but again there was not enough exposed skin. Only one thing seemed to ring through Harry's head: _they had been too late, too late, much too late, all for nothing._

"Most of your anger is misguided," Grigarex said silkily, firing hex after hex at Harry as if slicing through the air. "It was your own kind who did this. Desperate as they were for progress."

Neville launched forward, the blood now slick down the back of his neck, aiming a spell at Grigarex's feet. A thick, gelatine substance looped around the goblin's boots, rooting him to the spot. He snarled, trying to pull free while he flung out another hex. But with his movement limited, it was easy for Harry to disarm him.

He held both wands in his hand, the anger still seething. Grigarex stared at the wand in his hand with small, beady eyes.

"You worked with them. You were a part of the problem," Harry spat, his blood boiling.

"Our King wanted progress too." Grigarex had given in now, refusing to resist against the glue holding him to the floor. His eyes darted instead towards the door the others had disappeared though. "He wanted what the wizards have."

"He admired us," Neville said thickly, fingering the cut in the base of his skull. He was as pale as a sheet.

"No," Grigarex said slowly, glaring at Neville. "He despises you. Envy and admiration should never be confused."

"And when your own army turns on you?" Harry said, gripping his wand. "What then?"

For the first time, Grigarex faltered. "We have struck our deal with the Kobold Könige." But his face betrayed a trace of fear. Harry moved towards him, wand raised.

Ron skidded back into the room, part of his face hanging slack as if he had suffered a stroke. Otherwise, he was unhurt. Harry only spared him a glance as he continued towards Grigarex, now an arm's length away. The goblin was rooted to the spot, but with just another spell, his arms were also bound to his sides. The walls spun dizzily, but Harry was fixed on the goblin's sly eyes. He reached forward to remove his helmet and look him properly in the face.

"Hermione's Obliviating that bloke so he can't report who—hold on, _Neville_ ," Ron crossed to him just in time. Neville fell slack to the floor.

"You're really that sure? Harry asked, raising his wand. "The military seem ready to revolt. And they've been the ones to trap and train your dragons."

"The dragons will never attack goblins now," Grigarex sneered, with some of his former steel. "We have given them a taste of human flesh, and now that is all they are accustomed to."

The bones scattered in the Death Room, picked clean, fed to the dragon to placate it while it was locked in that room, filled with the stench of decay. The goblins knew to never be wasteful and the Ministry would have no issue with the way that the werewolves' bodies were disposed of. For them, it was the ideal solution.

Ron was saying something urgently to Harry and the walls that had stopped spinning began to start again as yet another door closed, a haze of red light from their earlier marks burning into a blur as the room changed again. But Harry could see and hear none of it, with only one word in mind. He slashed his wand back and said it without remorse, feeling something terrible click in place.

" _Sectumsempra."_

"She got away," Luna breathed, entering the room once more. She was clutching her ribs tightly with one hand. "Ginny's been Stunned—oh _dear_."

She froze, her usually wide eyes now popping at the sight before her. Ron, too, still hovered over Neville, his eyes bulging as the blood spurted from Grigarex's neck. The goblin was bound, unable to struggle, his beady eyes bulging as the blood poured out of him. Truly shocked. He had not expected defeat. He had not expected death to come. Ron pushed past Harry and grabbed hold of the goblin's throat, but it did little to stop the flow.

" _Harry_ ," Ron cried, as if appealing for help, as if this were an accident, his fingers tight around the deep wound. Harry charged forward, grabbing Ron's bloody hands and dragging them away from Grigarex, who only spluttered and choked. The awful sound filled the air in ragged bursts. All Harry could think was next he should go after Gladstone. This was no longer a rescue mission.

Ron grabbed hold of him as he panted, waiting for that final moment where the life would leave the goblin's sly little eyes. Those calculating black eyes, filled with so much hate and fear, found Harry for the last time before a vacancy fell over them.

Claudia Coy skidded back into the room, her neat blonde bob tousled into a mess and her robes askew. Absurdly, she seemed to announce her news to the room at large.

"The Minister's been poisoned. He's dead!"

* * *

"I'm not sure how trustworthy a clairvoyant horse could be," Scorpius drawled, leaning back against the treehouse's enclosure. They were sitting in a circle, their legs meeting in the middle like a child's drawing of a star. Albus and Rose had finished the flask between them, all the while listening to Scorpius' doubts. "In all honesty, I'm still sceptical."

"You're _always_ sceptical," Albus complained.

Rose had endured enough taunting. "Can you both please put me out of my misery?"

They hushed her.

"Just a few more minutes. We told Niamh eight o'clock."

This only puzzled Rose. "Who?"

"C'mon, Rose. The _centaur_ we met here last time. The girl," Albus said.

"Meredith Maxwell," Scorpius prompted.

" _Oh_ , right. Yes."

Scorpius checked his wristwatch a final time before he decided that they should climb back down the ladder. Rose did so carefully this time, knowing the buzz in her fingers was just as much catalysed by the whiskey as it was the ancient magic of the Refuge Tree. As they reached the ground once more, she took a seat on one of the large, twisted roots. The strange centaur runes glowed warmly, conveying a history and a kind of magic unbeknown to Rose. A magic that she had no desire to understand, only to respect, for it seemed beyond anything she could comprehend.

First, there was the sound of her footfalls. Then, she was eagerly brushing through the brambles into the clearing. Niamh's long, silvery hair fell in loose waves to her waist, where it brushed her dusty, beech brown body. She looked older than Rose remembered her, now buxom and agile, the roundness of her face evening into a thin, firm jaw. She came to a rest before the three, her eyes bright. She was completely naked, with the exception of a small, woven pouch slung over one shoulder, the strap crossing between her breasts like a sash.

"How wonderful," she whispered, her eyes darting between them all. "Oh, how wonderful."

Albus began, "Thank you for coming, Niamh—" but was halted there.

"Please, do not show me unnecessary gratitude. I am always excited to see humans," she said, cantering around them. Her hooves found the ground between the knotty roots like a dance. "Look at you all! You've grown taller."

"You mentioned before Christmas," Scorpius said hesitantly, standing to address her, "than you would find out exactly what you overheard from the other centaurs."

Here, Niamh paused, looking quite nervous. She raised one hand to her mouth, fingering her bottom lip. "Ronan would be very displeased to hear that I have intervened with providence."

Rose noticed Scorpius discreetly roll his eyes.

"When I addressed Krikor," Niamh added, in earnest, "he grew most morose."

"Morose," Scorpius repeated.

Niamh's eyes locked onto Rose's, so that she felt her body hum like a string that had been plucked. She knew somehow that all of this was true and to be trusted.

"There is a great battle coming," Niamh said, moving closer to them, "where the offspring of victors must fight."

She folded herself down, in the nook between two enormous roots, and drizzled crushed Mallowsweet onto the ground. From her pouch, she retrieved a flint and steel, and after several strikes, she had a fire burning. The smell of the Mallowsweet made Rose feel drowsy. There was no way to see the stars in this clearing, as the tree branched out to the very edges. However, Niamh merely placed a hand on the carved, glowing trunk and the leaves above shivered, and the branches parted, clearing a perfect triangle that showed the sky above.

As the smoke burned, the stars at first seemed blotted out. But after some time, and under Niamh's muttering, the smoke blended into the air, forming a gauze-like web above them, and through it the pinpricks of the stars shined even brighter. It was as if the sky had been projected right over their heads.

"Look at Mars," she said, drawing her hand to a pinprick of pink light in the smoke. "It has entered the perihelic opposition. Look how it rises in the east. There will be calamity soon, death or danger will find those who are innocent." She traced a finger though the smoke, and the planets seemed to move over it, shifting, while the stars remained behind. Rose blinked furiously, stunned by the illusion of this magic, while the centaur remained in her trance. "In the months to come, the violence will become targeted. Look at the pull that Jupiter will have on Mars. It is exactly as Krikor feared."

"Which is?" Scorpius prompted.

Gradually, Niamh's eyes shifted back to their faces. The smoke above dissolved into the air and the mistiness in her eyes dissipated. "The heirs of a war-torn generation will lead a new battle, where the children of former enemies will unite against a new adversary."

Scorpius frowned. "You got that all from the stars?"

Niamh's eyes flickered between them all. She hesitated before returning all her tools to her pouch. The canopy above them had closed back over the heavens, like the curtains coming together at the end of a show. "That's as much as I understand. I'm not nearly as experienced as the elders."

"Wait," Rose said, speaking to Niamh for the first time since she had arrived. The centaur stood, her knobby knees wobbling as she got to her feet. "Niamh, why do the centaurs think this has to do with us?"

She looked at the three, her eyes shining in the light of the runes. "Each of you are a splitting image of your parents," she said. "And the stars never mislead us. Perplex us, yes. But never do they conceal the truth."

She nodded to them all, her brow furrowed, before turning and galloping out towards the edge of the clearing. In a whisper, she had disappeared into the brush. Scorpius, Albus and Rose stood beneath the throbbing Refuge Tree, the enchanted warmth rubbing down any sense of fear or disillusionment so that their only reaction to this news was a quiet bewilderment.

"Well," Albus sighed, "Merry Christmas."

* * *

He had to see it to believe it. That was the only way. The moment he had aimed that curse at Grigarex, Harry had been intent on hunting down Gladstone, too. It was the only way to finish this. And now, to find out he had been poisoned…

He wouldn't believe it until he saw it.

"Get Ginny and Neville out of here," he told Luna, his face set as they followed Coy down the hallway, the Department of Mysteries behind them like a nightmare's hall of horrors. This was the part where they would have to wake up. Ginny was rising from where she had been Stunned by the elevator, pulling herself to her feet. When she spotted Coy, she raised her wand, but then noticed her husband and brother behind the hit witch, covered in blood.

"What's—" she gasped, and then she spotted Hermione, who was supporting a near-unconscious Neville. "Someone better fucking tell me what's happening."

"Get Neville back to the house," Harry said, grabbing Ginny's arm as they hit the elevator button.

"Why are you bleeding—where's—?"

"You, Luna and Neville need to get out. You need to trust me on this, Ginny."

The elevator arrived and they crammed themselves inside, jamming the level one button along with the atrium. The doors jangled shut. Hermione was breathing heavily, loose flyaway curls falling over her sweaty face. Luna tucked an arm under Neville's shoulder and looked pointedly at Ginny.

They all cast their Bubble-Head Charms once more. The elevator doors clanged open, and after a furious silence, Ginny grabbed Neville's other side and helped him into the gas cloud beyond. She and Luna gave the other three a final hard look before the doors clanged shut again.

"Try any moves and I'll Stun you all in a heartbeat," Coy hissed, her wand still raised. "For all I know you had accomplices."

"Please," Harry bit back. "Do you think I would use poison? I'm no coward."

Ron and Hermione shared an alarmed look. Harry didn't care. He was throbbing with fury. It hurt every muscle in his body.

They arrived on the Minister's floor. He had so many memories of visiting these offices when Kingsley had first become minister. Harry had still been a teenager then. The thought was impossible to him now. Like the floors below, there was no security stationed on this level. The trio walked ahead of Coy, who nervously held her wand at their backs as if expecting them to turn and attack her at any moment. They pushed into the Minister's office and came to a halt—Gladstone was slumped forward on his desk, having aspirated on his own vomit, which had dried on his lips. A glass of brandy spilt across a stack of papers.

Ron crossed to him, pressing his fingers against the Minister's throat, then pulling back his eyelids. Thumbprints of Grigarex's blood stuck to his skin, but otherwise, Gladstone looked a sickly grey. Ron chewed his lip and Coy held her breath.

"I don't think he's dead," Ron finally decided, as if it was just a matter of him deciding. He prodded Gladstone nervously and looked at the others. "I can feel a bit of a pulse. I don't know."

Hermione immediately clasped Harry's arm. "Don't," she said, her voice quaking. "We take him to Saint Mungo's."

"You must be _joking_."

"Harry," Hermione said, her voice breaking. "Do you know how this looks? It looks as if you were willing to carry out a political assassination."

He was. He had been. He turned back to Gladstone and a surge of anger bubbled in him. If only they did their job properly and hadn't bothered with poison. The Minister should have been dead.

"Do you think it was Grigarex?" Ron asked, heaving Gladstone upright in his chair.

"Grigarex was with me all night," Coy intervened, her wand hand shaking. "And he would have no motive—"

"We're in the middle of a coup," Harry replied, staring at Gladstone. The empty halls, the very few guards waiting by the elevator. Tonight had not been like other nights at the Ministry. "Let's get down to the Atrium, now."

Ron and Hermione used their wands to levitate Gladstone, so his pale body drifted down the corridor like an iceberg, his big belly up. He reeked of vomit and alcohol. They ran into no one, and this only seemed to frighten Coy more. She was erratically twisting her wand in all directions, up until they were back in the elevator.

The moment the doors opened again, a curse shot through the fog of the sleep gas and through the elevator's moving grills. Ron immediately dived in front of the others, copping the spell in his right shoulder and reeling back. Hermione screamed and jammed her hand on the button to close the doors.

"No!" Harry yelled, thumping his hand on the grills. "We sent the others back through there!"

Coy's jaw was set. She drew her wand through the air, directly towards the levitating Minister for Magic and herself. " _Protego Maxima._ "

"That won't stop a Killing Curse," Harry warned her, but he also did the same for both himself and Ron and Hermione, and added their Bubble Head Charms for good measure, before jamming the doors open again. The cloud persisted, but spells continued to fire through the room, splitting the purplish steam of the sleeping potion. Harry dropped down low, vaguely aware that the others were flanking him. Through the cloud, he could make out three foggy shapes sitting inside the fountain, their shapes merged into the shape of the statues. Spells pinged and bounced off the metal, flying past the fountain and ricocheting off walls.

Once they were through the smog, closer to the fountain, it was clear that the three people taking cover behind the statue were Luna, Ginny and Neville. The latter was still slack between them, his lower body in the water and his upper body slumped against the golden statues. Ginny and Luna peeked out from either side of him, firing curses at the goblin guards flanking the fireplaces, stopping their escape, but unable to get closer with the potion cloud.

Harry leapt into the fountain, the water splashing up to his knees, and aimed his wand at his feet. Twisting his arm, he swept the water from the fountain like a wave. It hovered in the air, dripping and spitting onto the Atrium's tiles, before he thrust it at the goblins in their gleaming armour, knocking them down like pins. Luna came to his side, able to now move into the open, and used her wand to freeze the water to ice so the goblins trying to stand slipped once more.

It was the Elite Squad, their armour, still marked with the emblem of the crossed wand and dagger. There was Selgrut.

Selgrut moved his own wand over the water, so that droplets raised up into the air like marbles. Then he flung them towards the Order, huddled in the fountain. The water was now as sharp and hard as bullets. "Get down!" Harry yelled, grabbing Luna and pulling her into the water. The icicles launched off the statues and the fountains' frame. By the time they looked up, the goblins had scattered to the fireplaces. Selgrut was too far to have a clear shot.

"You killed Grigarex for us," he called, smug and snide. His voice echoed across the room as he stepped into the last fireplace. "You did us a favour!"

There was a flash of green and Harry ducked, but it was merely the floo powder connecting with the grate. Then, they were all gone, the goblins unconscious left behind.

Harry got out of the fountain, now sopping wet and struggling to breathe properly though his Bubble Charm. His head was aching. He turned slowly in a circle and found Claudia Coy in the elevator, still with the Minister's unconscious body, her face covered in sweat and her wand still raised at hip height. Their potion bomb was beginning to thin. Harry launched towards them both, the only enemy still left to fight, but Ron had already grabbed him around the chest.

"Let's go," Ron said, dragging him towards the fireplaces.

"We should finish this now!"

"Neville needs to be Healed. _Let's go,_ Harry," Ron insisted, dragging him towards the fireplaces.

Harry struggled to get free, staring at Gladstone with so much loathing that it was undoubtable what he was about to do. Before he had raised his wand, there was a flash of red light and Harry slumped forward, his weight dead in Ron's arms.

Hermione lowered her wand, her face very pale. "Carry him Ron. I'll help with Neville. Let's go."

Harry didn't get to go after Gladstone that night, something that revolted him in the days that would follow. Killing Grigarex had been meaningless if Gladstone remained alive—and remained alive he did, held on by his proverbial fingernails. He stayed in St Mungos in a potion-induced coma while the Healers attempted to extract the poison and reverse its effects. In the meantime, the Ministry was without a Minister and Harry was filled with regret—he had waded into blood so deep that his only choice was to make it across to the other side.

* * *

The newspapers were a befuddled mess the days following the Ministry attack—the _Prophet_ had relied on the Minister to write their stories according to his tone, and now, they had no Minister to approve their story. Instead, a mishmash of sources seemed to merge in a recount that was confused, unable to choose whether it was mourning Grigarex or glad that a traitor had fallen, whether it was relieved the Minister was recuperating or feeling that this was the time to choose a more conservative leader.

 _GOVERNMENT STRUGGLES TO FIND INTERIM LEADER._

 _PUBLIC CALLS FOR POTTER TO BECOME MINISTER FOR MAGIC._

 _REBEL GOBLINS ATTEMPT COUP._

Gladstone had fired his entire cabinet and there was no one left to become the Minister for Magic. In all this kafuffle, the reports did not seem to mention the dozen werewolves missing and dead overnight, nor did it mention what the Order had seen in the Department of Mysteries.

One thing was clear, whether the papers agreed with it or not. The public sentiment was very suddenly pro Harry Potter.

Some articles pitched him as a Phoenix, rising again from the ashes to save the magical world in its eleventh hour. Other articles described him as a vigilante terrorist, trying to spread his own agenda through a violent rebellion. These sentiments were expressed within two pages of each other.

The Potter siblings were taking the attention exceptionally well. Anyone who asked James Potter about his father was promptly told to address James as the Son of The Phoenix, and even asked Professor Tate to refer to him by this new title before having several house points taken away for causing a scene. Lily Potter would systematically describe the factual inaccuracies or lack of credible sources used in any of the articles quoted at her by fellow students. Of course, Albus avoided discussing it, and whenever it was brought up, he would plug his ears and sing the Hogwarts school song until the questioner left him alone.

In the wake of the coup, in a week where no Minister for Magic governed the Ministry, the Senior Slytherins took to sleeping in shifts, with one person staying awake at all times to make sure no one was breaking into the common room. Rose had pitched the idea to the seventh years, and after some initial hesitation, Gallo took it up.

Neville was away from school for two days following the attack, which was quite suspicious. Hannah refused to talk to any of the students about it. Professor Bellucci was basically beside herself.

"Hello dears, please take your seats. Remember to keep your desks separate and wait for further instruction—oh, you three, let me just ask," she said, drawing near to Scorpius, Rose and Albus, "Surely you've heard from your parents whether Professor Neville is quite alright? I'm not suggesting those reports in the paper are _true_ , of course, but perhaps you've heard—he has been missing for a few days and the timing just happens to coincide. I haven't gotten a word out of Hannah and she's been quite—"

"We haven't heard anything," Albus said shortly, stopping just short of plugging his ears and belting out the Hogwarts school song. He pushed towards a desk at the back, and Rose and Scorpius followed, stifling laughter.

Double period Potions on a Monday morning usually held surprises, and this was no expection. On each desk sat a small, croaking toad. Some were larger than others, with various colourings and different pustules or parlours. None of them looked particularly healthy. Rose took a seat behind her desk, watching her frog anxiously. It stared back with it baleful eyes.

"Er, we're having another little test today. Nothing quite teaches Potions as problem solving does," Bellucci began, wringing her hands. Her usually lyrical voice faltered and haltered nervously. "Last week we studied several theories of antidote brewing. It's time to put that to the test, especially when poison seems to be so…well. It's important that you know how to identify the effects of poison and how to treat it. You have the double period to learn what poison the frogs have been effected by and brew an antidote to cure them. Use your problem solving skills," she trilled, pacing behind her desk.

"Er, Professor?" Mary asked, her hand hovering in the air. "What's the prize?"

"Oh, yes, the prize. Of Course. Well, this one really _is_ worth your while. I've brewed a batch of Liquid Luck. I have just enough for an hour's use, a few thimbles worth. You should know, you cannot use this in examinations or formal competitions. But there's nothing quite like Felix Felicis," she said, retreating to her desk and taking out a stack of parchment and letters. The class was now all itching to start, rabid at the thought of the prize, determined that this time it would not be Scorpius Malfoy who won it.

Rose was one such determined student. She _really_ wanted that Liquid Luck. Her frog had attempted to hop across her desk, and when she picked it up, she felt the slimness of its clammy body. With a shudder, he dropped it back on her desk. There was no time for revulsion. Clamminess may be a symptom. She cracked open her textbook and flipped to the poisons.

Using her wand, she forced the frogs mouth open and examined its purple tongue. Surely, a frog's tongue was not _usually_ purple? Little purple pustules were also spread across its greyish body. Venomous Tentacula juice! She flipped through her pages, remembering a poison with Tentacula juice. Suddenly, this was easier than she thought it might be. She was the first to set up her cauldron, and she fondly stroked her toad as the cauldron water began to bubble.

Rose was well ahead of the others. Scorpius was sending her prying looks out from the corner of his eye and Albus was on her other side, flipping through his book in a frenzy. The hardest part would be getting this potion right, but Rose was determined to be as meticulous as possible. She reread every instruction. She stroked her frog as it balefully croaked, feeding it a few lacewing flies as she prepped her ingredients.

Surprisingly, Albus was right on her tail for this one, his potion already boiling by the time Rose had finished prepping. He had always had the Healer's touch. Despite the pressure of the race, she tried not to rush. If she rushed, she would make a mistake.

She lost time when she realised she had cut her mandrake stalks the wrong size, and was forced to start that step over. Mary Boot, Scorpius Malfoy and Imogen Abercrombie were all starting their potions. Alice Lim was beginning to prep. Rose had no time to lose. She hastily trimmed the original stalks into the right shape and threw them in. But disaster struck when she reached the end of her brewing—ahead of the others—to find the colour was not the azure blue listed in the text book, but rather a teal green. She fed a few drops of the potion to her toad with a dropper, but the only effect was some steam billowing from its purple mouth. It was looking sicker by the minute, and was now huddled in one spot, oozing slime.

Rose hastily crossed to the potion's cupboard, riling through the stores until she found a small cardboard box marked _Bezoar._ She slipped out the withered stone and huddled close to the shelves, using a pestle to grind away some of the bezoar before slipping it back into the box. Then, she hastily returned to her desk and sprinkled the powder into her potion and held her breath.

The surface of the liquid turned a rich blue, and with little time to spare, Rose administered the potion to her mawkish toad. The pustules began to wither and flake off its body and it turned one grateful eye to its healer. Rose threw her hand into the smoke filled air. "I'm done!"

Several heads turned towards her, Bellucci one of them. She skittered out from behind the desk, clacking along the stone floor until she was beside Rose's desk. The toad was getting healthier by the minute, returning to its former colour. When Bellucci tried to pry its mouth open, it gave a sporadic little leap across the desk.

"Marvellous work, Rose," Bellucci sung, prying out a phial of gold potion from her robes. She set it on the desk with a smile. "I'd use that wisely. The rest of you still have fifteen minutes, and I'll give one house point to each student who manages to cure their specimen."

The rest of the class returned to their work, if somewhat resentfully, and Rose glowed with pride as her toad continued to get better by the minute. Twice she had to keep it from jumping off her desk. The little phial of Felix Felicis was tucked in her pocket, where it almost seemed to blaze against her hip. Out of all of Bellucci's bribe-like rewards, this was by far the best, and Rose knew it.

Once class was almost over and the majority of the class had managed to cure their toads, Bellucci sent a box filled with small round bottles around the room, instructing each student to administer the potion within to their toads. Alice Lim hesitated when she received her bottle.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It's to put the toads down," Bellucci said placidly, receiving the empty box when it returned to the front of the room, "now that our work with them is done."

"But—but we spent all lesson trying to _save_ them!" Mary Boot cried, outraged.

The room became still, glancing between the spotted toads on their desks, in various states of restoration, and their Professor at the front of the class. Bellucci gave Mary a patronising smile before placing her hands on the scattered parchment on her desk.

"These toads have assisted you in your learning, but they've had far too much poison ingested for us to expect a proper recovery," she said, her voice rising then falling into a dissonant ballad, all minor chords and sharp notes. "It would take us _weeks_ of care and resources to restore them to their previous quality of life, material that isn't worth using on specimens. In all honesty, it is kinder for us to respectfully use them for our learning and education, and then put them out of their misery."

* * *

"In friendly interest," Imogen said, falling into step beside Albus after class, "I should warn you to steer clear of the Hufflepuffs."

"The Hufflepuffs," Albus replied, keeping step with her. "We have Charms with the Hufflepuffs right now."

"That's why I'm giving you a warning," Imogen said slowly. "People are losing their minds over the papers. You've torn that house in half."

"I have no idea what you mean," he replied.

Imogen quirked an eyebrow at him and then hastened her pace so he could walk alone. As he moved through the halls, heads turned his way and voices gushed out as conspiracies ensued. Walking _with_ Imogen may have been a better idea after all. At least he would be able to ignore everyone. He also quickened his pace.

They entered the classroom at the same time, and the moment they were through the door, Albus understood the warning. Caleb Macmillan approached Albus immediately, his shoulders thrown back and his lips pursed. Albus came to a halt, knocking Imogen's knee with his own to get her attention.

"Albus," Macmillan began primly, "I just wanted to say that I am very sorry for how rude I have been in the past regarding your father. I think I got a bit swept up in what the papers were saying and I lost sight of where his intentions have always been. I hope you know you can count on me as a friend."

Imogen scoffed and moved ahead to find a desk. Caleb waited expectantly, his eyes wide and earnest, as if he may be moved to tears if Albus rejected this reconciliation.

"Er," Albus said, nodding once, desperately wanting to find a seat. He started to shuffle in the general direction of the desks. "That's really kind of you, Caleb. Thanks. I appreciate the support."

He grabbed hold of Imogen's arm and hissed, "Don't leave me."

"Don't be so desperate," she replied, sliding her books over to make room for him. He sat down quickly, flipping through his textbook. But he couldn't have kept his head down for long, for a moment later Dolt Wolton was leaning back in his chair to address him.

"Macmillian may _forgive_ you, but your dad was out of line. He killed the goblin King's advisor and raided the Ministry on some mad terrorist plot. As far as I'm concerned, we're a lot less safe with him on the loose."

Albus was considering putting his fingers in his ears again.

"Aren't I right, Naomi?" Wolton prompted.

Naomi Bones also turned in her seat, her eyebrows drawn together as if she was faced with a particularly difficult maths question.

"Maybe he thought he was doing what's right," she said slowly, glancing at her boyfriend, "but I don't feel comfortable with a vigilante dolling out justice as he pleases."

"And I don't feel comfortable listening to you two prattle on like a bunch of bumbling walruses," Imogen snapped.

Naomi opened her mouth to protest, but Professor Flitwick had wrapped the board twice with his wand and silence was descending. Imogen smiled privately to herself as she withdrew a quill. Albus grinned and nudged her elbow.

"Thanks."

"Give me any reason to insult Naomi Bones and I'll take it."

* * *

A full week had not yet passed when the government was suddenly back in running order. In the time that transpired, there were no grabs for power and no collapse in regime. Things just ticked on, routine continued in a state of chaotic order. Then, Gladstone was recovered, out of St Mungos, and back in his office.

The news arrived in a rushed edition of the _Prophet_ that Friday morning, and Harry spent some time crouched over it in Sirius' old bed, biting at the skin on his thumb. Grimmaud Place was wearing him down, picking at his skin and stepping on his toes. It was hard to sleep in the house without company. He was bidding his time, staying low, waiting—as he had promised Ron and Hermione—for the whole story, before he made any other rash decisions.

He felt the amulet around his neck glow hot and reach under his shirt to fondle it open. In the locket's face was Ron's flushed face.

"I don't know if you got word—"

"I just read about it."

"I'm coming over right now. And I have some new Order recruits."

"If you trust them, just use the paper I jotted the address on," Harry said, tired of being Secret Keeper. Tired of secrets and staying secret.

"I'll see you soon, mate. Don't move."

 _Don't move. Don't do anything rash. Don't speak to the public. Don't call another Order meeting._ Ever since the Ministry raid, Harry had been handled like a misbehaving child. Snapping the locket shut, he tucked it back under his shirt. He turned past the first page of the paper and continued to scan the articles until, once again, his face jumped out at him. An older photograph, from when he was first made Head Auror. He recognised it in an instant.

 _POTTER'S POPULARITY PIVOTS WITH CRYPTIC POSTERS_

It was whoever was posting up those damn posters. Yet another round had been plastered throughout the Ministry, these ones marked with a single word: _Saviour._ Was it an admirer, or someone determined to make Harry look like he was vying to be Minister? Whoever it was, he was determined to put an end to it. All this attention was doing him harm.

He heard the door click open downstairs and the shuffle of footsteps. Lunging from the bed, Harry grabbed his wand and headed down to the kitchen, sloping down the stairs. Then, his heart stopped.

"Cresswell," Harry said, fondling his wand. Three goblins stood by his side, all in dark, wizards robes. One of them was examining a goblin-made knife still covered in butter. "Ron—was this a good idea—"

"We have a lot to fill you in on," Ron said, swinging back a chair. He extended a hand to suggest the others did the same. Harry remained standing, still by the door.

Garret looked exhausted, but incredibly lucid. Wary. He hesitated before pulling back a chair, then spoke in a low voice to the goblins—in Gobbledegook. The harshness of the words made Harry twitch.

"Cresswell found me two days ago. He had a lot to catch me up on," Ron said, gesturing hesitantly at the Ministry employee.

"I've been under the Imperius, for so long that I…" Cresswell ran both his hands over his face. One of the goblins pulled a flask from his pocket, but the wizard declined. "The day you killed Grigarex was the day the Curse lifted."

"So he cast it," Harry said tightly.

Here, his eyes found Ron, but his friend was staring intently at his hands, expending much focus on knotting them together on the table. Harry had promise Ron and Hermione that he would not go after Gladstone until he knew whether he had been under the Imperius Curse. This had been their idea, not his, but he was compelled to wait.

"And Gladstone? Any change in him?"

Ron's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Cresswell answered. "He was never under the Imperius. He's planning to purge the militia this afternoon."

This was the permission he needed. He was already half way through the door, paying no mind to the three goblins he had yet to introduce himself to—who were probably furious with him for murdering one of their own. It didn't matter. Once Gladstone was dead, this would all be over.

"Harry! Hold on—bloody hell, let us finish," Ron yelled, stumbling out of his chair to bar the door.

"Gladstone needs to go," Harry said through his teeth. "As well as his little army."

"You should not spill any more goblin blood, Harry Potter," one of the goblins grumbled.

"Gridhop is right, Harry. It can't be you," Ron said quickly.

It had to be him. It _had_ to be—he could not have killed Grigarex but let Gladstone live. If he could have it over again, he would have killed the Minister and spared his adviser. Gladstone was responsible.

"Gladstone is not doing this for personal power," Harry said, his voice shaking. "He is the definition of lawful evil—he's working within the system to change the system. It's how he's become a dictator. It's how he's systematically wiped out werewolves and sterilised Squibs. It's all _lawful_. In his mind, he hasn't done anything wrong."

And Voldemort had done the exact same. The rhetoric had been different, that was true. The Dark Lord's rhetoric had been conservative and traditionalist, but it was still legitimised by laws. That's where Gladstone had excelled. His rhetoric has been disguised in progressive buzzwords, in promises of equality and prosperity. People ate it right up, no questions asked, no critical thinking. People had become so accustomed to hearing it, they never stopped to think twice. _Harry_ had never stopped to think twice. He had let this happen.

So, it had to be him to end things.

"How?" Harry burst out. " _How_ could he just murder all those people? How could he treat them like lab rats?"

"People behave much more callously when assaultive actions are verbally sanitised with euphemisms," Cresswell said. "Gladstone never wanted his hands dirty, and he made sure that 'purifying' the magical race was carried out with a painless potion. He never wanted to feel like a murderer. He has rationalised his every action."

"He thinks he's doing what's best," Ron blanched, "for the Greater Good."

"If you kill him, the Kobold Könige will seize power," one of the goblins said, his voice low. "We will all be worse off."

Harry digested this. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. Gladstone was enough to deal with without the Kobold Könige thrown into the mix, planning another coup, resisting. He shook his head slowly.

"Let Gladstone purge his militia. Let him execute those goblins," Gridhop said, his eyes sharp. "Then, you can kill him if you like."

"I don't feel comfortable relying on the villains to destroy each other."

"To them, Harry Potter," the goblin growled. " _You_ have become the villain."

* * *

 **A/N:** Honestly guys, _I am winging it_. Sorry if this chapters feels weird, it is weird, it's all so weird. But after reading Cursed Child, I now realise that I can write characters totally out of character, and still be like "it's based on _canon_ , guys".

Super, super busy right now so sorry if this isn't properly proof read/control group tested to see if the plot even makes any sense anymore ;)

I kind of just want this damn story to end already haha. Much love x


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**—** **CHAPTER FOURTEEN—**

No matter what was happening out beyond Hogwart's gates, nothing could distract its students from Quidditch madness. The next game was coming up at the end of February, and with the much-anticipated Ravenclaw-Slytherin match brewing, practice sessions were running later and later. Any time anyone would complain, Scorpius would remind them that they had only beat Ravenclaw the year prior because Rose had told them about Nathan's old injury. Without a doubt, Ravenclaw's strategy would protect that weakness.

"We need to keep possession of the ball," Scorpius instructed as he ran through a new drill. He licked his lips and ducked his head. The wind was fierce, forcing him to shout over it to be heard. It was cold, and people were tired. "We won't be able to defend against Corner for long if they have the Quaffle."

"Are you saying I don't know what I'm doing?" Buckingham snapped.

"I'm saying that we need our Beaters focused on their Seeker, so defence will be light."

Scorpius gripped the handle of his broom and motioned for their three Chasers to get back up in the air. "The rest of you can go get changed. I want the Chasers running that last drill at least five more time before we finish up."

As always, Meredith was keen to prove herself. She was already grabbing hold of the Quaffle and flying back to the starting point. Alice and Sterling followed after her. The wind was so fierce it almost battered them off-course.

Rose and Toby returned to the ground, tackling the Bludger back into its case. The others shouldered their brooms and grabbed their bags as they headed back to the castle. Scorpius took hold of the trunk and Rose grabbed the Beater's bats, letting Toby go ahead without her with the excuse that they needed to talk about prefect patrols.

"Are you really worried about Ravenclaw?" Rose asked once they were alone. She kicked open the shed door and hung the bats off the wall. Scorpius slid the trunk back onto its shelf. He heaved a sigh.

"This time last year, you were breaking up with Corner."

It was not something she wanted to be reminded of. She cringed so hard her jaw hurt. In any case, she understood why Corner was still so resentful. Revealing his old injury had been a cheap but necessary trick. The wind continued to howl, shaking the shack.

"I was so jealous," Scorpius said, and then grinned sheepishly.

Rose began to laugh. She moved closer toward him, her fingers linked around his neck, where cold sweat was gathered against the collar of his robes. He pulled back slightly.

"Careful," he warned.

"I'm not going to kiss you," she replied, and then ran a thumb over his bottom lip. "Your lips are so chapped anyway."

"It's all the wind."

Rose dug around in the pockets of her robes and retrieved a lip balm, popping the cap off and handing it to Scorpius. He quirked an eyebrow before running it over his lips. He smacked them together. "This tastes like vanilla." He paused for emphasis.

"Yeah." He looked at her again, pointedly. She frowned. "Are you allergic to vanilla?"

"My amortentia smelt like vanilla."

"That's right, I forgot," she said thickly. "That's so random."

" _You_ taste like vanilla, you idiot."

"Oh! Oh—" she said, taking a step towards him, raising both her eyebrows. "What are you _implying_?"

"All done! Here's my broom!"

They leapt apart again, Scorpius colliding painfully with the Beater's bats so they toppled onto the floor with a clatter. He dived down to retrieve them as Meredith barged into the shed, broom over one shoulder. She glanced between both Scorpius and Rose.

"I've been meaning to ask," she said, stepping over Scorpius to hang the school's Ceansweep back on the wall. "When's my new broom coming? It's past Christmas."

"Er, there's been delays making it because there's no goblin metal being exported," Scorpius said, rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head. "I had to register it in your name, so it'll get to you in the post. Just keep an eye on the owls."

"I need it by the next game, though," Meredith said, crossing her arms over her chest. Ever so diligent now. Her obsession with Scorpius and Rose had slowly transferred to Quidditch, something they both approved of. "How am I supposed to beat Ravenclaw without a proper broom?"

"We'll sort it out," Rose reassured her. She made her way out, forcing both Scorpius and Meredith to follow. "In any case, you could beat Corner flying on an old branch. And that's something we'd _both_ like to see."

Scorpius smirked as Rose led Meredith across the pitch by the arm, and without either noticing, he slipped her lip balm into his pocket.

* * *

There was one thing worse than the Quidditch fever that February. Rose arrived to her bedroom that evening to find a perfect, pink piece of paper propped up on her pillow. Immediately, her stomach dropped to her shoes. Isabella was already lying on her bed, pink card in hand and legs dangling in the air.

"What does it say?" Rose asked.

"Valentine's Day party. Plus ones are invited," Isabella said, fanning herself with the card.

"Didn't we _just_ have a Christmas party?" Rose complained, kicking off her joggers.

"I'm mostly concerned about the plus one part."

Rose dragged her robes off over her head and leaned against the dresser, watching Isabella as she folded the invitation in half and shoved it under her pillow. Whether you were somebody that celebrated such holidays or not, Bellucci's parties never boded well.

The Stellar Society had all received their invitations, and news of the invitations had already spread. People who weren't in the club were making extra efforts to sit and chat to those who were, clearly in the hopes of being made a plus one. Whenever the topic came up around Scorpius, he pointedly steered the talk towards Quidditch practice, reminding everyone what was the one true love in his life, and how he wished to be spending Valentine's Day.

The Great Hall had been abuzz during dinner, with Bellucci sitting high up on the table with a thin, maniacal smile, a queen bee nestled high above her humming underlings. "We've got Hogsmeade coming up, too," Isabella said, resting her head on her hand. "When are we supposed to get any schoolwork done if all we're doing is having breaks and parties?"

"Since when did _you_ care about schoolwork?" Zabini said.

"She's just dreading the approach of Valentine's Day," Rose informed him.

As Valentine's Day was falling on a Monday night, the Hogsmeade trip had been scheduled for the preceding Sunday. All this did was painfully draw out the holiday by yet another day. Isabella toyed with the idea of asking out Sterling to Hogsmeade, to test the waters, before asking him to be her plus one. Scorpius only responded by telling her what the velocity of a Quaffle was when dropped from above. They headed back down the common room after dinner, the talk of the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend, party and Quidditch putting everyone off their homework. Just as they were cracking the spines in their books, Zabini nicked Rose's shoulder. He needed a word, he said, and when it became clear that it was not a conversation he could have in the common room, she followed him towards the boy's dorms. Both Scorpius and Isabella cast alarmed looks after them, but Zabini promptly ignored them as he descended down the steps.

"If you're about to ask me to be your Valentine, this is not the right setting," Rose teased, a little wary.

Zabini headed through to his bedroom and took a seat on his unmade bed. Rose hovered by the door, stomach lurching anxiously. There was no reciprocal humour in his expression. "Since we're mates, there's something I feel I have to tell you."

"That's ominous."

"Your whole family are placing bets as to when you and Scorpius will get together."

The colour drained from Rose's face, then dramatically rebounded back into her neck and cheeks so she turned the shade of a blotchy tomato. Unable to say anything, she stood there.

Her whole _family_. Placing _bets_.

"Roxanne reckons you'll be with Malfoy by Valentine's Day," Zabini went on candidly, relaxing onto his pillows. "So, if you _do_ hang about him at Bellucci's party, expect the rumour mill to churn."

"How—?" Rose choked, shaking her head in disbelief. "How did they find out?"

"Find out?" Zabini raised an eyebrow and then sprung back off the bed, like a jack in the box. Rose drew back, thumping into the dresser. "You _are_ seeing Malfoy, then?"

"Shit."

"Merlin, Rose! I guessed this back over the summer and you lied to my face."

She pressed her lips together as if this could somehow hold the secret in, but the pressure was too much. "You're the first person I've told," she gasped, then slapped a hand over her mouth.

The secret was out. _Really_ out now. Teddy finding out was one thing, but Rose had yet to actually tell anyone. The sudden enormity of the fact that Rose Weasley was dating Scorpius Malfoy felt overwhelming. Until now, their relationship had only existed in a bubble, coddled and cozy in an incubated womb. It was now feeling far too real. Zabini slowly broke out into a big, shit-eating grin. "I cannot fathom this. Malfoy landed a girl like you."

"You can't tell anyone, even Malfoy. I promised him I could keep it to myself. You _owe_ me," she added, jabbing a finger at him. "I've kept your secret about your mum and dad."

"Alright, alright, I solemnly swear to take this to my grave."

"Who betted on what?" she added, returning to the matter at hand with some dread.

Zabini proceeded to fill her in based on what he could remember, yet one thing was clear. "James has won, he reckons you two are already together."

"And Albus?"

"Oh, Dumbledore help him," Zabini chuckled, his amber eyes now crinkling with mirth. "He bet that you and Malfoy would _never_ get together."

Did this mean that Albus did not approve of the possibility of his two best friends dating? Or was he simply oblivious and convinced that she and Scorpius did not extend beyond a platonic bond? This would change things, but at least she had been given forewarning.

"Let's get out of here," she decided, walking past Zabini to unlock the door, "before anyone gets the idea that _we're_ secretly dating."

* * *

"We can't be seen together at Bellucci's party," Rose insisted in a low voice during Charms.

"That's ridiculous, though. We were both invited. If we ignore one another, won't that arouse _more_ suspicion?"

Scorpius, who always felt that the Potter-Weasley betting system was a bit juvenile, was at first amused to hear the news that he and Rose were the latest fodder for their risk-taking forays. Of course, amusement quickly turned to concern. His girlfriend was convinced that they were close to being discovered, and that the only way to mislay everyone was more distance. The very idea of it sent him a little mad. Distance was the last thing he wanted.

Rose spent the rest of the period churning over this concern until the answer occurred to her mid-way through Transfiguration.

"We ask other people to be our dates."

"Absolutely not."

"Oh, come on. It'll just be for the sake of pretence."

The class was dismissed, and Scorpius surlily threw the rest of his books back into his backpack, making an effort to appear as disgruntled as possible. As he and Rose left the classroom, about to resume their bickering, their path was intercepted.

"Hi, Scorpius," Mary Boot said, sidestepping between them. Rose almost walked into her. "Since we both have Arithmancy now, would you like to walk together?"

"I suppose—er—"

"Mary," Rose said loudly, "aren't you invited to Bellucci's party?" The Ravenclaw shot Rose an agitated look, her eyes flashing under their heavy lids. She shrugged, her lips pursed. "Well, why don't you go with Malfoy? He was just saying he needed a date."

"Was I?" Scorpius said between clenched teeth. "I don't recall—"

"Don't you have Ancient Runes?" Mary said slowly, glaring at Rose.

"Yes, right. I best be off. But it's great to hear you two are going to Bellucci's party together. Brilliant, even," Rose said, looking at them both pointedly. She forced a smile that almost cracked her cheekbones, before heading in the opposite direction.

Of course, by dinnertime, the controversy had stirred up dramatically. Scorpius was furious with Rose for volunteering him to Mary, mostly because the awkwardness of their Arithmancy lesson offered no possible escape, forcing him to suffer in silence. She was sitting with Albus at the Gryffindor table, so Scorpius wasted no time in hunting her down.

"Pleased with yourself?" he said coldly.

"Quite," she agreed.

"But _you_ don't have a plus one, Rose," Scorpius said, seething under his polite pretence. He scanned the table, and then marched a few paces towards Angus Finnigan, who was midway through a mince pie. Rose half stood, startled by her boyfriend's vindictiveness. She gripped Albus' shoulder so hard that he flinched. A moment later, Scorpius returned, his face set. He took Albus' other side. "So, that's settled."

"You asked _Finnigan_?" Rose barked, her voice warbling. " _Finnigan_ , who's had a crush on me since fourth year? Couldn't you have chosen someone neutral?"

Scorpius refused to respond, steely and cold. He grabbed a pumpkin salad and began to empty it onto his plate.

"Er, what in Helga's name is going on?" Albus said slowly, placing his fork down.

"Dates for Bellucci's dinner," Rose snapped. She leaned over her cousin to snap at Scorpius again. "His dad _died_ recently. I can't believe you'd go give him false hopes."

"You mean, all this drama is over that stupid party?" Albus blanched, looking between them both. He turned back to Scorpius, and surprised him by asking, "Do you want to go with me as my date?"

"That was an option?" Scorpius blinked, stunned.

Albus continued to shovel treacle tart into his mouth, completely unfazed. "Sure, we'll go as mates."

"Merlin. if I had known sooner…I've already agreed to go with Mary."

The look of absolute anguish on his face said it all. Albus choked on the tart.

"Speaking of dates, what are you doing for Hogsmeade?" Scorpius asked. "Rose and I were having lunch before Quidditch practice."

"Well, I promised Imogen we'd spend the morning together."

Rose and Scorpius seemed to forget their fight for a moment so they could share a bemused look. Albus huffed with frustration. "She never goes down to Hogsmeade because she never has friends to go with. So I agreed to spend the morning together."

"The day before Valentine's Day?" Rose asked meaningfully.

"We're going as _mates_ ," Albus said.

"If only everyone was that sensible," Scorpius agreed.

* * *

It was hardly a surprise that both Albus and Imogen spent the majority of the morning in Honeydukes, taking advantage of the free samplings of chocolate propped up on the front display. Albus almost always had friends to accompany him into Hogsmeade, and he was planning to meet up with Rose and Scorpius by eleven, but there was something rather nice about spending the morning shopping with Imogen. It was partly her humour, which was so scathing that every heart-decorated window display provided fresh resources for jokes. It was also partly her very understated excitement. To Imogen, the magical world held wonder. Hogsmeade itself, still frosty with snow and pink with decorative displays, was very much enchanting to her. She was enjoying herself, in spite of herself. The chocolate was good. They threw snowballs at passing couples from behind the back of Honeydukes and they were finally spending time together outside of the monotonous routine of prefect patrols. For once, Imogen glowed with something other than spite.

"How're you holding up with everything that's happening with your dad?" she asked, lowering her voice. The shop was packed with students, either buying chocolate in pink packages to use or gifts or to eat back in the dormitories later that night. Imogen picked up a bouquet of chocolate roses and twirled them in her hands.

Albus sighed heavily, leaning against a barrel of Cockroach Clusters. He _had_ received a letter from his Dad, signed off with a code name (Roonil Wazlib) that reassured he, Lily and James that all was well and they had nothing to fear. It was a courtesy that, in fact, made Albus _more_ anxious. Especially since so many members of the Elite Squad had deserted the Ministry.

"I feel like all we ever do in our family is try to hold up under whatever drama is assaulting my father," Albus shrugged, plucking one of the roses from her. He played with the tinfoil before deciding to change topic. "Do you reckon if I propose to you in public we'll get more free chocolate?"

"You wouldn't dare," Imogen replied. She returned the roses back to their shelf.

They headed to the front of the shop, paying for what they had decided to purchase. Imogen tugged her crimson beanie further over her ears, glaring at the heart-shaped box of singing chocolates that were propped up on the counter.

"What's the rationale behind your cynicism towards relationships?"

"I dunno," she shrugged, nudging the box closed. It stopped singing its gaudy song. "Mum always had a string of men around, and each one was as useless as the last. It's really just been us. I just don't much see the point in doing the whole dating and marriage and children routine."

Albus sniffed, contemplating that while he rummaged through his wallet. When Imogen pulled at her bag, he held up a hand to the witch behind the counter. "We'll pay together."

"You don't have to—"

"My treat," he shrugged.

Imogen huffed but allowed him to pay for their cluster of chocolates, which were swept neatly into a paper bag. As they exited the shop, he passed them to Imogen. "We'll share them on our next prefect patrol."

It was chilly, the wind a frosty current yanking at their clothes, but their hands were covered in mittens and their beanies were snug around their ears. They progressed up towards the main street.

"You know," Albus said, matching her pace. "You shouldn't knock love until you try it. You might like being in a relationship."

Imogen pulled a face. "I'm not the sort of girl boys want as a girlfriend."

"Don't undersell yourself. You're brilliant, and any bloke would be mad not to give you a shot. You know, once you get past the slightly terrifying aspects of your character."

"Merlin, that was _almost_ a compliment."

"Can't let you get a big head, Midge," Albus chuckled. "But really," he said, coming to a halt and taking her by the shoulder. "Just give it a chance, you know? At least once. My mum and dad are mad for each other, even after all these years, so I suppose its _possible_. Dating someone might just surprise you."

Imogen's brows pulled together. She dusted her hair back behind her shoulder, dislodging his hand, and he let it fall. Whatever he had said, it had clearly made its mark, for Imogen was smiling slightly, squinting at him as if he was a very puzzling piece of Transfiguration homework she'd been procrastinating on for a while. Before she could speak, he noticed movement coming from the publishing house across the street.

"Oh _no_ ," Albus hissed, coming to an abrupt halt. There were several reporters hovering on the street, quills and papers in hand, a photographer leaving the office behind him. In the simultaneous instant that Albus recognised them, they seemed to recognise him. Amid their number, perched like a vulture, was Rita Skeeter.

Imogen pulled him down the alleyway by the post office and gripped his arm tight. She pushed him towards the backstreet, urging him to go while she came up with a distraction. Albus didn't have time to thank her; he scrambled back behind the building and ducked beneath a dumpster as the reporters rounded the corner into the alley, one of them trying to secure his top hat back onto his head.

"He went that way, back towards the castle!" Imogen cried, pointing wildly. The reporters cried out and flocked towards that direction, Imogen shepherding them along.

Sighing with relief, Albus doubled back around to the Three Broomsticks and snuck in through the back door. It didn't take him long to spot Rose and Scorpius sitting at one of the booths, their lunch already half eaten between them. He joined the two Slytherins, panting heavily.

"You look…dishevelled," Scorpius said upon greeting him.

Rose slurped at a bright, fuchsia coloured drink and eyed her cousin up and down. "And sweaty," she added.

Parched from all his running around, Albus grabbed Rose's pink drink and took a gulp before sliding it back to her. He must have been an amusing sight, but neither of his friends had a chance to comment. Isabella had sidled up to them and slid into the booth, brushing her fingers over her fringe. She hovered on the edge of her seat, suggesting that she wasn't staying for long. With one sweeping gesture, she indicated her bright, emerald sweater and matching earrings.

"Do I look okay?" she asked nervously.

"Sterling knows how you look in school robes," Rose pointed out. "No need to impress him."

"In any case, why impress him with your looks when you could charm him with your wit and personality?" Scorpius asked.

"You two are infuriating." Isabella seemed to notice that there was a Gryffindor amid their number. "Hello Albus. Why, don't you look…sweaty."

"Dishevelled," he corrected, just as clipped.

Isabella turned away from him, already having lost interest. She gestured at the bright pink drink. "What is that?"

"Some sort of mocktail," Rose replied, shrugging. "Valentine' Day special. You should get Sterling to shout you one."

Scorpius couldn't help but add his two cents. "It looks putrid."

"It's not that bad," Albus acknowledged.

" _See_? Just try it."

"Eugh, no. I don't drink alcohol, Rose."

"It's non-alcoholic. Just _try_ it."

She shoved the straw beneath his chin and, with some resistance, he took a sip. He pulled a face, mostly for Albus' amusement, and then pushed the drink towards Rose again. Isabella sent them both shrewd looks, then sighed. She stood quickly, readjusting her sweater. "Sterling's just arrived. I'll see you lot after lunch."

The moment she was gone, Albus slumped forward on the table.

"Date with Imogen went that poorly?" Rose asked, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu.

"It wasn't a date," he replied sternly. "And we just ran into a bunch of reporters."

"Merlin's balls," Rose huffed. Scorpius grimaced at the expression. "When there's not goblins to worry about, we have to worry about the media instead."

Somehow, both Rose and Albus found themselves reminiscing about their last Valentine's Day. She had been with Corner, he had been with Bird. The very memory of it made him shudder. With some relief, he rejoiced with Rose over how _easy_ it was to be single. Drama-free, was the word. "You'll either end up with them or break up with them," Albus said. "Better off not dating at all unless you feel certain it's going somewhere."

"I agree completely," Scorpius said, nodding firmly. Rose rolled her eyes and he gave her shoulder a squeeze. "In any case, I'm heading back up to the castle to book the Quidditch pitch for a practice. I suppose you'll both be dodging reporters," he chuckled, ducking beneath the table to retrieve his shopping bags.

"Naturally, dodging Rita Skeeter is my speciality."

"Enjoy the rest of the day. See you later, darling," Scorpius added, sliding out of the booth. One beat too late, the words seem to catch up to him. He went slightly stiff, with his bags slung over one arm, still swinging with momentum. Rose had also tensed up. This Freudian slip, completely harmless, was about to give them away. Without dropping his tone, Scorpius added, "and I'll see _you_ up at the pitch, Rose."

"Oh, sure. For practice. Bye Malfoy."

In the silence that followed Scorpius' departure, Albus sat staring at Rose with a look of utter puzzlement. He shook his head a little, as if needing to clear it of water. She slurped loudly on her drink.

"Did Scorpius just call me darling?"

"Yes," Rose said quickly. " _Yes_. He absolutely did call _you_ darling."

"That's not typical for him, is it?"

"No, not really," Rose agreed, swallowing hard. "Perhaps, he…er…fancies you."

Albus' face contorted into an expression of disbelief.

"I mean, it's possible, isn't it?" Rose invented, quite anxiously. "He absolutely dreads going out with Mary Boot, for one. _Terrified_ of girls, really, isn't he? And even Skeeter suggested in the papers that there was some sort of Dumbledore-Grindelwald vibe between you two."

The implications of all of this seemed to hit Albus very hard. He felt his face turn a shocking shade of scarlet. With some horror, he turned back to his cousin. It was as if several things had clicked into place. "Merlin, I should've realised sooner. Of course, Scorpius is gay!"

" _Well_ ," Rose said, her voice very high. "I mean, we can't make assumptions until he—"

"And I've been leading him on this whole time. I even asked him to be my date to Bellucci's party! I feel terrible, I'm going to break the poor sod's heart."

"Wow," Rose mouthed silently, clutching her mocktail and wishing it contained alcohol after all.

Albus collapsed forward, face in hands. Rose took another long slurp on her drink, face very pink, somehow stunned that Albus had earnestly believed that Scorpius fancied him rather than coming to the conclusion that he and Rose were already dating. With an attempt at consolation, she patted Albus' head.

"I'm going to have to set this straight, aren't I?"

"Er," Rose said, wondering if the pun was intentional. "Sure. Please, just go easy on him."

* * *

By the time you're seventeen, you expect first love and butterflies in the stomach and romance. You expect experience. Isabella Nott had none. It was not for a lack of being pretty, for she was quite pretty. Not in the way that had boys double taking, but pretty enough to garner accolades from girls and receive compliments from her parent's friends. She felt she was quite interesting to talk to, and she was good at keeping a conversation going. Yet, she had never had a boyfriend, and she had only been kissed twice, which she felt was too little. Romance felt remote and strange and unreachable, a myth that belonged in The Tales of the Beedle Bard, which she was only just beginning to realise, was not true.

Isabella had never been in love, yet she _had_ had her heart broken. Somehow, the heartbreak without the love left her feeling a little bit hollowed out. When the resentment finally blew over, there was nothing left. No butterflies, no tingles in her fingertips. Just apathy.

Jonathan Sterling was older than her. He paid for her lunch, which was kind of him, and also tipped their waitress. She paid for their drinks so they were even. He had a dazzling smile and was fit from Quidditch training. Really, he was a gentleman, without any apocalyptic quirks—a rare thing for a Slytherin. He talked about sport a lot, but also listened attentively when Isabella went on a long and winding tangent about her top five favourite operas.

It wasn't a bad date. Still, Isabella found herself wistfully staring at the rest of the Three Broomstick's couples, paired off casually at tables, or else in troupes of four. All their conversations bubbled up like foamy butterbeer. Heads on shoulders or hands being held. She felt cold, as if she was outside the room, looking in behind the frosty glass.

There was one person who was starkly alone, up by the bar, having entered mid way through her date. He now sat nursing a drink in hand. James Potter. His back was to her, his hand rested on his head, and he looked mildly miserable. For the majority of her date, Isabella had noticed him chatting with Madame Rosmerta, sulking every time the _other_ waitress went by, but now he had been left to his own devices.

With jarring clarity, she could picture him at the Bent-Winged Snitches concert, before everything had gone to hell. Somehow, in her memory, he seemed cleaner then. Younger. He had joked with her, told her to get over Zabini, given her advice that he couldn't take.

"I'm going to get us a couple more butterbeers," she said, grabbing her bag.

"Are you sure you don't want me—"

"Please, Jonathan. You paid for our lunch." She slid from their booth, heading towards the bar with her head tucked down. When she glided onto the stool beside James, he jumped. Upon identifying her, he rolled his eyes. She tried not to be offended.

"Mooning over your barmaid?" Isabella asked. She motioned towards Rosmerta, holding up two fingers to indicate her drink order.

"Mooning over Zabini?" James bit back, hot and agitated.

"Actually, I'm here on a date. Jonathan Sterling," she added, nodding in his direction.

"I suppose its not going awfully well if your spending it talking to me."

"I'm just getting us drinks, if you don't mind," she said, determined to keep her tone light. "Sort of took your advice after all."

This caught him by surprise. James' face softened, now touched with some confusion. The brown in his eyes looked less hard. "My advice?"

"You told me I needed a rebound," she said, with a bit of a smirk. Rosmerta appeared, placing the two bottles in front of her. Isabella fumbled with her purse, extracting the coins she needed.

"Sterling is not rebound material. He's boyfriend material," James snorted. He ran his finger along the rim of his own bottle's neck, but this time he did not take his eyes away from Isabella's. "You need a palette cleanser."

She raised her eyebrows. They disappeared under her fringe. "Maybe we both need one, James."

James seemed so startled, all of the heat melted from his face. His hands laid at rest, paralysed on the countertop. Isabella smirked, sliding the two glass bottles off the counter and heading back towards the booth without so much a backwards glance.

"Thanks again," Sterling smiled, accepting his with a little nod. There was some hesitation in his eyes. "What were you talking to Potter about?"

"Oh, just small talk," Isabella giggled, without meaning to. She still felt a little giddy from approaching Potter with such boldness. She clutched the cold bottle tightly, letting its temperature soothe her tingly fingers, and pretended to listen to Sterling as he detailed the tactics of their next Quidditch match. Just when her heart rate had returned to its usual tempo, Isabella felt a shadow fall over their table.

"Ah, Sterling. Glad to hear you lot have a plan to crush Ravenclaw. Someone has to," James Potter said, tweaking a warm smile. It was as if he were suddenly a different person. Sterling smiled graciously in return. With a smooth insouciance, her turned to her. "Oh, and Nott, thanks for that advice. You were right about that hanging of the Gargoyle Strike in the Tapestry Corridor. I'll definitely check it out after dinner tonight."

James gave the faintest of winks before slinking back across the floor, moving between tables, and not turning to look over his shoulder. Isabella sat there, somewhat flummoxed. She was convinced that he had just organised a rendezvous. And while her lack of utter experience made her completely nervous, the sudden eagerness she felt left her head reeling, stomach fluttering, fingers tingling.

* * *

Imogen and Albus arrived at the Slytherin Quidditch practice with only a few minutes to spare. Imogen collapsed into a seat, fumbling around in her bag to pull out some chocolates. She passed a few to Albus and began to unwrap one with her mittens. The day had been better than expected, better than usual in any case. Her Hogsmeades visits in the past were usually to pick up extra quills and parchment. Today had been fun, and Albus had been entertaining. At least, they spent the last hour walking back to the castle—having missed the last carriage—talking about Albus' fear that he had accidentally wooed Scorpius Malfoy.

"Honestly, I think you've just read into things," Imogen teased.

"I am convinced that he is," Albus said, quite daunted.

"Not everyone is unrequitedly in love with you, Potter."

Albus twitched towards her on that comment, pulling a little face. She grinned, eating yet another chocolate. So much for saving them for patrols. But the chocolate made the conversation sweeter, so she couldn't help herself.

The practice had finished. The Slytherins were touching down again, shuffling off their broomsticks. Rose was taking the stack of equipment from Scorpius' arms and walking away. Seeing his opportunity, Albus squared his shoulders and stood.

"I'm about to break his heart the day before Valentine's," Albus said, squaring his shoulders and bunching his hands into fists. With a small resolute nod, he set off towards the Slytherin's Captain. He was undoubtedly about to make a fool of himself.

Imogen called after him, in her dry, joking tone, "The only thing that Valentine's Day is good for is the chocolate and the snogging."

André Zabini came to a halt on the bleachers behind her, pausing with his scarf wrapped around his neck. His smile slowly turned coy. "Were you talking to me?"

Imogen's eyes left Albus' retreating figuring and darted back to Zabini instead. "No," she said flatly, crossing her arms.

"Well," Zabini smirked, "maybe you _ought_ to have been."

* * *

Tim Buckingham showed up late to Quidditch practice because he had been down at Hogsmeade with a girl, on a pre-Valentine's Day date—something that was fast beginning to infuriate Scorpius. All this talk of dating and relationships was nauseating. He worked the team harder than usual, something that Alice Lim appreciated. She was so into the drills that over two hours later, she was unwilling to stop. Scorpius understood why. Being single on a day like this was exhausting—almost as exhausting as pretending to be single.

Isabella and Zabini were sitting high up in the stands, some space between them, watching the practice. It was a surprising sight, a hallmark of older times where the two were joined at the hip, although they did not appear to be talking very much. In fact, Scorpius got the strange feeling that they were watching him, very closely. Their eyes fixed on him, and occasionally Rose. In the last ten minutes, two others arrived. Albus and Imogen took a seat together, deep in conversation, not even watching the practice.

"Alright, let's warm down. It's getting dark."

Just as they hit the ground, he overheard Sterling groan. "Oi, Lim. Want to walk me back to the castle?"

"Er, sure. Are you frightened of the dark, Sterling?"

"Nott is sitting up in the stands and I really don't want to talk to her."

Alice burst into laughter and shouldered her broom, falling into step beside Jonathan Sterling and asking for a play-by-play of their earlier date, which had apparently been painfully dull. Scorpius smirked, also grabbing the rest of the equipment, but not before Rose hastily stepped in front of him.

"This is just a quick warning that Albus may be under the impression you're in love with him."

"Pardon?"

"You called him _darling_."

"I called _you_ darling," Scorpius muttered. "Then I covered really poorly by pretending I called him darling."

"Regardless, he's making his way over to the pitch right now to break up with you."

"Rose—" Scorpius said between his teeth, but she had already snatched the equipment trunk from his arms and was walking swiftly towards the shed, back straight and head up high. This fiasco surely couldn't get any worse. First Mary, now Albus. In any case, Albus was fast approaching. Imogen called after him, but Scorpius didn't catch what she said, and Zabini waylaid her in any case.

"Hey," Albus said, firm but deeply pink in the face. "Look. About earlier, I think I've given the wrong impression." Scorpius began to protest, but the other boy held up a hand to stop him, green eyes very sombre. "You are wonderful, Scorpius. Honestly. I would consider you one of my closest mates. But I just don't feel the same way as you. That's not to say I don't understand, because I do."

"Albus, I don't fancy you," Scorpius sighed heavily. "It was a slip of the tongue."

"Oh," Albus said. Some defiance touched his face. "Are you sure?"

"Erm, yes. Positive." The relief on Albus' face was palpable. He chuckled and gave Scorpius a little shove to the shoulder. The entire day had left Scorpius feeling drained. He patted Albus' shoulder in return. "I need to change. I'll see you back up at the castle."

As Albus progressed towards the slopping hill on which the school was built, Scorpius made his way back the change rooms to retrieve his bags. His body ached, but it was more than just the training. All this chaos around love was wearing him down. What he would give to just call Rose darling in public and not have anyone bat an eye.

Isabella sauntered across the grounds towards him, holding open the door of the changing rooms and then following him inside. She let it click shut behind her. Out of courtesy, Scorpius asked about the date, but he knew how it would've gone based on Sterling's reaction. Isabella gave a similarly lacklustre response as Scorpius pulled off his Quidditch robes and threw them aside.

"Maybe I don't need a boyfriend. Maybe I just need a boy who likes me as much as I like him."

"Generally, that's what having a boyfriend is like," Scorpius said, pulling on a sweater. Isabella took a seat on one of the benches that tracked the room's perimeter, playing with Scorpius' Quidditch robes absentmindedly, her eyes on her own reflection in the mirror opposite.

"If you weren't taking Boot, we could've gone together to Bellucci's party tomorrow."

"Just go alone," Scorpius suggested, sitting down to tie up his laces. "I wish I was."

"So why ask Mary?"

"I didn't. I was forced into the arrangement."

"Why not just ask Rose?"

The hardness in her voice immediately made Scorpius wary. He pretended to take a great deal of effort to tie up his shoelaces. Despite being an exceptional liar, the day's events were making it very difficult to maintain his resolve. The words were on the tip of his tongue.

Her follow up question forced him to look at her.

"How long have you two been together?"

"We're not," he said, then blanched. In her fingers, Isabella pinched the vanilla-flavoured lip balm. He stared at it, wondering how the innocuous item could seem incriminating.

"This is hers."

"No, it's not." Based on her expression, Isabella didn't believe him. "Rose just recommended the brand to me."

"Don't lie, Scorpius. You _shared_ a drink with her today."

"The implications of that being?"

"You don't share drinks with anyone because of your irrational fear of germs," Isabella snapped, tucking the lip balm back into Scorpius' pocket. "But you shared a drink with Rose and you didn't even think twice. So, how long have you been together?"

Scorpius drew in a deep breath. "About six months."

Isabella's mouth fell open. Any acrimony dissolved with this revelation. Scorpius yanked his robes from her lap and shoved them into his bag, throwing it over his shoulder and making headway for the door. Isabella bounced along behind him.

" _Six months_? Six blooming months? So, since the summer?"

"Since the end of the school year."

"Dumbledore's beard, you didn't think to mention it to me? Six whole months!"

"We're keeping it a secret, Belle. No one knows. You mustn't breathe a word about this to anyone, even Rose."

"Six months!" Panting with the incline of the hill, she had to save her breath for a little while, which allowed her to process this piece of information by the time they reached the Castle.

"I cannot fathom this. You, snogging someone. It goes against everything in your psyche."

"Merlin," he huffed, going very pink, " _this_ is why I haven't told anyone yet."

"Have you, you know…"

"No, Belle. We have not."

"Said I love you?"

"Oh?"

They came to a halt just inside the Entrance Hall. Dinner was being served in the Great Hall, the cacophony of conversation and cutlery drifting through the doors. They hesitated outside, out of earshot, in the shadows beneath the point-keeping hourglasses. Isabella stared at Scorpius imploringly. The reds of the Gryffindor rubies sparkled across her skin.

"Have you said it yet?"

"No, not yet," he replied, genuinely surprised by this question.

"And neither has she? It's been _six_ months, and no one has said I love you?"

"Is there a time limit on these sorts of things?" Scorpius asked, nervously readjusting his bag over his shoulder.

Isabella shrugged. "I just can't imagine going half a year with a boy and never once deciding to say I love you. Unless, of course, I didn't."

The thought had never crossed his mind. Suddenly, it was all he could think about. Rose had never once said I love you. It had been six months—it was _Valentine's Day_ —and she had never once said I love you.

* * *

With some trepidation, and with a stomach filled with butterflies, Isabella strayed from the rest of her group after dinner, pretending she needed to get a library book, before doubling back to the Tapestry Corridor once it was properly empty. The rich and colourful tapestries muted the sound of her footsteps as she inched from piece to piece, looking for the one James had mentioned. The hallway was completely empty now, it was well past nine-thirty, and the thought that he would not be coming at all—that this was one of his stupid practical jokes—occurred to her for the fiftieth time. Just when her resolve was faltering, she came across the hanging of the Gargoyle Strike, which was large enough to brush the floor.

The woven gargoyles twitched and galloped across their threads and she nervously reach up to brush her fingers over the fabric. The moment her skin made contact, the tapestry was pulled aside and a hand seized her wrist, pulling her into the niche behind it. The tapestry fell like a curtain behind her, plunging them into darkness. The alcove behind the arras appeared to have originally been for a suit of armour, so it was tight for two people, and she was already pressed quite close to James—chest to chest, her arm pinned to the wall and the other still in his grip. She didn't make a sound—not even a cry of surprise. Her head felt like cotton wool.

"Sterling didn't ask you on a second date?" he said.

"I don't think it went all that well," she replied, matching his low voice.

In the darkness, she felt him move towards her, so she moved in too. His breath was hot and hesitant, but as his hand slid from her wrist to her shoulder, it felt steady. James' hands were almost never steady. Now freed from his grip, she raised her left hand to his cheek and brushed the bristly skin along his jaw. She felt the moment of hesitation before their lips met, the hesitation born from her lack of experience. There was no romance and fireworks and swelling falsetto to mark the moment. Instead, there was his steady hand sliding up to her neck, the tingles in her fingers as she pushed him against the wall, claustrophobic in their little niche, cramming closer to have more space. He was the brave one, he was the initiator. She was happy to just follow.

It was dark, and she kissed him with her eyes open.

* * *

Monday morning double potions was so tense that Rose could have cut the air with a knife. Scorpius was hardly speaking to her. A storminess had come over him, casting his grey eyes like steel. Remote and removed, his face expressionless, he had adopted the impassivity of his younger self with an added edge that Rose had never seen before. To make matters worse, the Dungeon was filled with pink fumes and smoking potions of deep aromas. Bellucci was dressed in rich, red robes.

"Partner up," she said, quite giddy as she walked between their desks. "Today, we will be looking at a variation of love potions."

Scorpius effortlessly brushed by Rose, taking a seat next to Mary Boot instead, who was quite flustered by his arrival. Annoyed, Rose sought out Angus Finnigan and sat beside him as well. No matter what Angus said or did, Rose spent the entire double period watching Scorpius, who refused to so much as glance at her, keeping up an icy veneer of indifference. When the bell rang, he was the first out of the classroom.

* * *

Too exhausted to face Finnigan, too tired to spend the night nervously trying to read Scorpius' remote reactions, trying to read whether other people were reading into them, Rose never ended up leaving the common room. Already running late, she climbed the stairs from her dorm and then ended up sitting on one of the chesterfield lounges, her emerald dress robes bunching around her waist—she had borrowed them from Isabella, who had an endless supply of dresses, but now wondered if there had been any point to getting dressed. Part of her just wanted to go back down to her bedroom, have a warm bath and get into bed. Bellucci's office was only two corridors away, but the walk there seemed infinitely impossible.

Scorpius would probably already be there—as absurdly punctual as always—with Mary Boot, and after suffering through some small talk, they would both end up in a long conversation about Alchemy and fail to notice that Rose had never shown up.

* * *

"Where's Scorpius?" Albus asked, passing Mary a drink. She scowled, her eyes darting around, and then shrugged. With some frustration, she battered away a floating cupid.

"He never showed. He was supposed to meet me in the Entrance Hall."

"That's unlike him," Albus acknowledged. The decor was so frothy and pink it was difficult to navigate through the room.

"Or maybe it's exactly like him," Mary huffed. "Give me books and exams, and I can sort things out in a minute. But _boys,"_ she seethed, crossing her arms over her chest. "No logic there."

"Completely justified," Albus agreed, eyes still scanning the room. Finnigan was walking towards him, looking quite puzzled.

"Have either of you see Rose?" he asked.

"Merlin, how perfect. They _both_ bailed," Albus growled. He, too, had to battle away the annoying cupid. "Those two snakes."

"Being stood up on Valentine's Day, hardly a surprise," Mary muttered.

"At least we were both stood up," Angus shrugged, glancing at Mary nervously.

They both hesitated, just as flustered and annoyed as each other. Then, Mary passed Albus her drink. She held out a crisp hand.

"Would you like to be my date, Angus?"

"Er, I hadn't planned for it…but sure."

Angus took Mary's hand and followed her through the crowded office, where they both made a beeline for the dance floor, packed with Professors and students who swayed to the music. It was a room filled with couples, many unlikely, quite a few having looked like they had just gotten together the day before on the Hogsmeade trip. Albus took a gulp of Mary's drink and almost spat it out again when he noticed who was in the centre of the dance floor, arms around each other.

* * *

"What on earth are you doing here?"

Scorpius arrived at the top of the boy's dormitory stairs, his slight hand resting on the stone archway. He was in black dress robes, his bow tie unfastened around his neck and his wavy hair partly slicked back. Rose glanced up from the sofa, where she had deflated like a pancake, her emerald dress robes pooling around her knees. She blinked at him in surprise.

"What am _I_ doing here? What are _you_ doing here?"

With some hesitation, Scorpius stepped into the common room. The light from the lake fragmented through the windows, bouncing off his pale face and grey eyes.

"Have we stood up both Mary and Angus?" Scorpius asked slowly.

"Who cares if we have? They both knew we were terrible people when they agreed to go with us in the first place."

With this, Scorpius finally crossed the common room and took a seat beside Rose, on the far end of the sofa. His dress shoes were so polished that they reflected the pale green light from the lanterns.

"This isn't how I wanted to spend my first Valentine's Day with you," he said quietly, glaring at the tulle on her dress. "I didn't want to spend it with another girl pretending you and I were just friends."

"I know," Rose muttered, shifting under all her material. "I know that's why you were angry."

"Six months Rose, and I'm not even sure what this is."

Rose looked up at him, her blue eyes bright and tense, as electric as a thunderbolt. Her lips parted, failing to breathe the words in fear that they would make everything too real. She changed course instead. "Is it because of the bet?"

"I don't give a damn about the bet," Scorpius said, clipped and curt. "Why haven't we told anyone yet? Are you embarrassed to be dating me?"

" _No_ ," Rose said. Heat flushed into her face, making her skin sting.

"Then what? After Christmas, I'm convinced your whole family will be _fine_ with us being together. If anything, the bet confirms that they're fine with it."

"It's not that."

"Then _what_? Surely not your parent's ego, the papers have bigger stories to chew on now. What could possibly be so damaging about our relationship that you still want to keep it a secret?"

"It's _you_ ," she burst out, her face now burning. "It's _your_ family I'm worried about, Scorpius. I was never really in any threat of losing my family over this, but _you_. That's the problem, don't you see? Your father didn't even want you being friends with me!"

"T-that's all behind us," Scorpius blanched.

Rose shook her head furiously, her curls coming loose from their bun. She was getting louder and edgier with each confessional word. "You dating me is going to be unthinkable for the Malfoys. You only ever end up with purebloods! You have a legacy to protect. I am the exact _opposite_ of what your parents want! I can't deal with that sort of pressure. I've heard you and Isabella joke about arranged marriages, and whether that's a joke or not is beside the _point_. I am not the person you will want to bring home to your mother, Scorpius."

She fell back into the sofa, letting her arms fall to her sides, letting her heart fall into her stomach. The look on Scorpius' face gutted her. She had never seen him so forlorn or so pale. He shook his head in disbelief.

"You're _exactly_ the sort of person I want to bring home to my mother. Merlin, Rose. You're perfect."

* * *

The doors of the Come and Go Room discretely opened and closed, the small wooden door clicking shut and then vanishing into the wall. Isabella felt jittery and warm, her fingers tingling with nerves, her long dress sweeping the floor. She had crept past the Stellar Society event with only a pang of regret, and was about to step inside when she noticed a couple on the dance floor. Zabini, with his arm around another girl. Suddenly, the party paled in comparison to her other offer that night. There was no need to suffer through this, standing around with a glass in her hand, dateless and daunted. She knew that routine so well it itched her skin. No, she wanted to be elsewhere tonight.

"I honestly wasn't expecting you," James said, sitting up and looking genuinely surprised. His hands clenched his knees, the knuckles too wide, jutting out like ridges. His eyes darted over her dress and he let out a low whistle. "Merlin, I'm underdressed. You look…" he faded away, then seemed to decide it was best not to add an adjective. Instead, he said, "Killer robes."

"Happy Valentine's," Isabella said, shivery and nervous. Without the candidness and darkness of their last rendezvous, this just felt nerve-wracking. The room looked like a cross between a bedroom and a study. A fireplace, a rug on the floor, an elegant divan that was innocuously reminiscent of a bed. She slid onto the seat beside him, teetering in her heels as she sat down. The thought of Zabini with his arm around another girl made her livid, and at least then she was burning with _something_.

She leaned in to kiss James, who leaned back only seconds after their lips met. "Are you sure you're okay? You seem kind of off to me."

"Er, you're hardly inspiring romance here, James," she huffed, peeling off her heels. Without her shoes hampering her, she leaned in to kiss him again, and this time received little resistance. His hands roamed over her back and sides and thighs, always over the material of her robes, hands that were unusually steady for a young man wired to jump. They reclined back, the divan expanding to give them space, and as she felt his hands on her bare skin for the first time, she pulled back, flustered.

"I don't want to sleep with you," she said, her voice shaky. It was a realisation that came to her with startling clarity, something that had to be said out loud. And despite how many times she had told herself, spitefully, in the last few months that she could've been that girl for Zabini, the one who had no strings attached, the one who could cope with casual encounters, she knew she couldn't. It wasn't in her nature.

Of course, this only applied to James in the moment, and the words weren't really meant for him, but he immediately took his hands off of her and sat up, his face very pink. "I-I don't want to sleep with you either," he said, holding his hands up as if he was surrendering. "I mean, it's not as if you're not…whatever, you know. You're great. I just don't want to have sex."

"Ever?" she clarified, still a little stunned.

"Just…er, I just want it to be with someone I love the first time," and here he went very pink. "That is, I haven't…"

"I haven't either," she added, quickly, hoping that had been self-evident. An enormous sensation of relief crashed over her. She looked at James, smiling wearily. "And I want it to be with someone special, too."

They were both sitting up again, about a foot of space between them, their clothes slightly crumpled and their faces very flushed. The mood was entirely sheepish and vulnerable and not what either had expected it to be.

"I thought this would be the distraction I needed, but it really isn't," James admitted, biting his lip. "In fact, my dad would _kill_ me if he knew I snogged a girl just to avoid dealing with my problems."

"Your problems," Isabella repeated, tucking her legs up under her body so she could face him.

"Just…" He had a habit of fading out, as if hoping she would fill in his blanks. When she continued to stare, brown eyes wide and expecting, he went on. "Everything that happened the night of the concert. And everything that happened after."

"Right," she replied, trying to keep her tone light. "No one really filled me in on what happened after you left."

James hesitated. "You don't seem like someone who likes listening to other people's issues."

"Maybe listening to other people's issues is the distraction _I_ need," she teased.

He squinted at her dubiously, and so she reached forward and took his hand, straightening out those bunched up knuckles and resting them on her knee. She waited, without another word, until finally, James drew in a breath and began to speak.

* * *

"Merlin, Rose," Scorpius said, and the look on his face was one of utter astonishment. As if every single concern she had ever felt was unfounded, as if all her worries were petty and there was nothing as solid as him and her and everything between them. He drew in a shallow breath. "You're perfect."

The heat was so intense in her face that she knew if she was to stay there beside him on the sofa, tears would find her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, bunching up her dress and getting to her feet. "For making a mess of Valentine's Day. I've just been so—"

"Stupid," Scorpius offered, smiling weakly. "Dense? Obtuse?"

"It's why you love me," she replied with a feeble grin.

Scorpius froze for a moment, his expression quite stiff, and then he slowly stood. "Well, yes. I suppose so."

Rose also froze. "Oh, _no_ ," she shook her hands at him. "No, don't tell me you were going to tell me _tonight_."

"Well…"

"Oh, Merlin. I literally ruin _everything_."

"I wasn't _planning_ on it, considering how mad I was at you."

She half bent over, as if burdened by the weight of her tactlessness, and bunched her dress robes up to hid her face amid the skirts. "I just jokingly implied that you loved me," she said in a muffled voice, her face hidden. "And you were actually going to say it."

"It's fine."

"Oh my God."

A second later, his fishbone fingers were prising her wrists from her skirts and raising her face to his. He was so amused that it made up for every one of her mistakes. He brushed the curls away from her hairline.

"I never said it," he said, smiling a little. "You just implied it. So, since we both seem to be on the same page, let's leave it unsaid until the right moment."

Rose bit her lip to hide a smile. She nodded and leaned in to peck him on the lips.

"As for telling people, let's keep this a secret a little while longer," he decided. "If only because we can have some fun with it."

"What do you mean?" Rose frowned.

"Well, they don't know that we know about the bet. Why not mess with them?"

Rose grinned slowly. For the first time in a while, she looked truly pleased to be dating Scorpius Malfoy.

"Fancy going to a party with me?"

"Yes, let's."

* * *

Once the dancing had settled somewhat, and the canapés had been nipped off their platters, Albus had a chance to sidle up to Imogen while she was alone at the drinks table, pouring herself a glass of red punch and watching Professor Longbottom dart away from Bellucci on the dance floor. Albus acted utterly cool while she fished around for the pieces of fruit in the bowl.

"So, it looks like you've met your match," Albus said, smirking at her cup.

"He asked," Imogen shrugged. "And he looks fit on my arm."

"Zabini, though. Of all people."

Imogen blinked at Albus with her tawny, yellow eyes. She shrugged, collecting her drink. "If you have such a problem with it, you should've asked me first, Potter."

He watched her slink back through the crowd, her hips swaying, returning to Zabini with her drink in hand, and slowly—despite being quite happy to be attending alone—Albus felt the smirk slide off his face. He should have been pleased for Imogen, even if her date was a complete tool, but something didn't sit right and he wasn't sure what it was.

There wasn't time to ponder it. A moment later, Rose was storming into the room, her mascara patchy and her hair coming out of its bun. She was in such a state that she almost bowled Albus over.

"From now on, you're not allowed to speak to Malfoy, is that understood?"

"What?" Albus blinked, stunned.

"That prat has completely screwed me over."

Before Albus could inquire further, Scorpius was pushing through the room. Rose's commotion was causing quite the stir. People were looking over from all directions.  
Rose raised her hand to slap him, but Scorpius quickly caught her wrist.

"Rose, _please_."

"Just _go_ , won't you?" she snapped tugging her arm free. "You've already broken my heart, isn't that enough?"

"You know I never meant—"

"Maybe everyone was right all along. Maybe we just never were meant to be anything more than friends."

She pushed past him, and then elbowed through the room of students, past a completely stunned looking Professor Longbottom and out into the hall. Albus turned to Scorpius, gobsmacked, but he only held up a hand and shook his head. "I better go after her," he said, and then followed Rose back out of the room.

The entire room was so stunned that even the musicians had stopped playing.

A moment later, Roxanne was by Albus' side. " _What was that about_?" she hissed through her teeth. Slowly, the sound of the violins resumed at a tentative tempo.

"I have _no_ idea."

"Were they dating? Did they just break up? Albus, what is going on?"

"Honestly, I don't know!" he huffed, feeling quite faint. It wasn't the bet he was concerned about—had Rose and Scorpius been together this entire time, right under his nose? It just didn't seem possible. None of it did.

* * *

"I can't believe you tried to slap me," Scorpius said, grabbing Rose by the waist. Two corridors away from the office, they could still hear the string quartet playing, the music echoing down the stone hallways. Rose was in fits of giggles, her face so pink she looked like a pygmy puff.

"I can't believe you didn't let me," she said, raising her hand to pat his cheek.

"You are such an exhibitionist."

"I think that ought to have messed with them enough," she snickered, leaning against the wall. Scorpius sighed, his eyes twinkling.

"Dating you is madness."

"Your life was boring before you had me."

The violins were playing an instrumental of one of Celestina Warbeck's songs. Scorpius grinned, sliding off the wall and offering Rose his hand as the music descended dreamily down the hallway. "Care to foxtrot with me?"

"I would love nothing more."

She moved in close to him, flushed from the excitement of their performance, her hand jittery in his. They moved slowly to the music, just beyond the scene they had left behind, still in their bubble.

"I sort of want to make a bet over which of us says those three words first."

"Why is everything a gamble with your lot?" Scorpius sighed, rolling his eyes. "Fine, I bet you'll say it first."

"And I bet you'll say it first."

"Well, I definitely am not in love with you," Scorpius said snidely.

Rose rested her head on his shoulder and smiled. "I'm definitely not in love with you, too."

She was completely in love, at this point, with no intention of falling out of it. Although, such matters can often be out of one's hands.

They were the first to return to the common room, where they parted ways under the windows of the lake, the dark water shimmering in the moonlight that only dimly reached them. Rose took off her shoes and kissed Scorpius gingerly on the lips before departing, and as she let her dress fall to the floor in her bedroom, she could have sworn she felt the ground rumble ever so slightly, the panels of her windows tremble with the waves, but the sound was so muted and her mood so mellow, it hardly caused her to think twice.

* * *

There was a shuffle of footsteps as a couple of young adults, recklessly covered in scratches and cuts and dust, crept into Grimmauld Place. Rowan and Molly both took off their shoes by the door so they wouldn't make a sound on the staircase. The crack that ran through her clear framed spectacles made it hard to see, so Rowan gently slid them from her face and took his wand out to repair the glass. Harry came in after them, also taking off his shoes, and told them both to get cleaned up before they headed home.

With an exhaustion that hung off him, he hung the Invisibility Cloak by the kitchen door and pointed his wand at the fireplace. The basement was thrown into relief, and a figure was suddenly visible at the head of the long table. Harry jumped, the dust in his hair unsettling. His wand was already pointed at her.

"Had a nice night out?" Ginny said, both hands planted on the table.

"Merlin. You almost stopped my heart." Harry clutched his chest, heart still pounding from the shock. After a really good fight, he felt every part of his body tingling, as if the nerves were hyperaware of what was to come.

Ginny slowly rose from her chair, crossing the kitchen as agile as a cat. She pressed a finger against the cut on his chin and her husband pulled back, wincing. She examined the blood on her thumb, then wiped it on his collar.

"Where'd you go?"

"Down to Hogsmeade," Harry said, green eyes matching her look. "They're digging tunnels, Gin."

"You took the younger ones down to Hogsmeade to go collapse goblin tunnels?"

Harry scowled, pressing his lips together. Tonight had been the first good night he had experienced in months. There were no regrets. "Ron, Hermione, all the goblins in the Order—they want me to hold off from hunting down the Kobold Könige until after Gladstone's been taken out."

"But you couldn't help yourself?"

"Whether I kill Gladstone or not, the Kobold Könige will _still_ come after me."

"You were just supposed to lay low for another month or so."

"They're tunnelling, Ginny."

"So, you convinced Molly and Rowan to keep a secret from the rest of the Order, accompany you on some guerrilla fight, and then force them to act like nothing's happened."

Her brown eyes were piercing. It took everything in him not to apologise.

"They were keen for the experience," he offered instead, wincing. "Are you going to tell Ron?"

"No," Ginny said, placing her hands on his chest. "But only on the condition you bring me with you next time."

* * *

 ** _A/N: I wanted this one to be perfect. I've been so, so emotionally and mentally done that I'm probably going on a bit of a hiatus after this._**

 ** _So many storylines had to be cut for this chapter to work, but it's probably for the better. I dedicate this chapter to Nicole who edited this, and as always, acted as my sounding board when I suggested outlandish ideas - despite your input, James still winks faintly, you fiend._**

 ** _I hope you're all well! Keep reviewing and reading. Xx_**


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**—** CHAPTER FIFTEEN **—**

There are many brief, transitory moments between that fall between the grand events of life. These moments are the breaths between the talk, the sleep between the waking. They are moments easily forgotten, but it is important now to stop and focus on those moments. To find those moments before the order of things are disrupted.

A disaster was coming; a colossal collapse, a shredding of all things familiar. For better or for worse, it was upon them. The month of March would prove to be a juggernaut, unstoppable and overwhelming. It happened that fast—the flip of a switch. The start of a Revolution.

So, we will pause and return to the moments in between. The moments where James believed hope was not lost, but a thing to be redeemed. The moments where death and disaffection felt too abstract for Rose to comprehend. Where young lovers and old flames were finding peace. Where failure just meant coming last, and winning just meant coming first. All the while, it crawled towards them, cloaked and quiet, unassuming, bringing with it the unsettling feeling of change on the horizon, the weather changing.

Let's not deal with March just yet. Let us return to the brief moments.

* * *

It was January and the Australian sun was already cooking the earth so the heat cackled and cracked. It was a heat that Teddy and Victoire had never felt before—exhausting, draining, baking them alive. They emerged from the container hand in hand and were hit by a blast of heat and dust. Teddy turned his hair the colour of the bright orange soil like a chameleon adapting to a new environment. The New Year had greeted the Southern Hemisphere with warmth.

It was immediately obvious who had been born and raised in the United Kingdom, for Teddy, Victoire, Adam and Krishna all balked under the sun, so much so that it was difficult to leave the shadow of the metal container. Still, Teddy wasn't getting back inside now that the Antipodean Opaleye was stirring from its magically induced slumber. Despite all of Charlie's crooning, nothing in the world could convince him that a beast so big was not dangerous.

Charlie jumped to the ground, dusting his hands on his jeans and turning back to look towards a large rock rippling on the distant horizon, momentous and crimson like the heart of a giant animal. "We're meeting with an elder of the Pitjantjatjara people, and they'll be settling the dragon in.

"Don't they worry about Muggles spotting them?"

"Visitors can't access the Mutitjulu community unless they have permission from the Aboriginal people living there," Charlie explained, using his wand to extend the platform from the container. "And that includes Muggle tourists."

The dragon slid drowsily from its container, a rope tied around its muzzle, led into the sand by Dragomir like a strange pet on a leash. Its pearly body glinted under the beaming sun, its eyes a dazzling range of rainbow colours, shimmering like opals. They didn't have to wait for long. Charlie went forward to greet the Pitjantjatjara elder, a man with a curly beard and a dusty old hat. Even as he spoke with Charlie, his eyes never left the dragon, always quick to notice its slightest movements. There was no fear in his expression as he went forward and took off her muzzle with dark, grizzled hands, only a sense of understanding that moved from skin to scale.

Victoire and Teddy were supposed to be taking a portkey across to the Eastern Coast that night, but both decided to stay a while longer in the dessert. There was something about the pull of the people and the land, the looming rock on the horizon that turned terracotta pink then crimson red as the sun began to set over the outback. Uluru stood like a beacon, thrumming with a sort of magic that Teddy sensed in his bones. He was told about the Tjukurrpa, when it was created. He was told about the Rainbow Serpent that could both give and take life, and when he looked into the rainbow eyes of the Antipodean Opaleye, he knew that there was truth in the ancient stories.

It was dark, but they were still sticky with sweat. Victoire had rolled up the sleeves of her T-shirt and Teddy had cuffed his jeans. The sky was purpling quickly into night, where so many stars could be seen that it hurt their necks to look.

"They reckon they can train the Antipodean Opaleyes," Krishna said, nodding towards the locals.

"You don't train a dragon," a young man said, in his twenties, dark skin and a cheeky grin. He moved towards them. "The Opaleyes sense when you're tryna boss them around. You need to finda mutual respect."

"So its possible?" Krishna mused. "To get along?"

"Yeah, of course. We're not all that different to them, are we?"

The dragon seemed to have gotten over her drowsiness from the trip, and having demolished several kangaroos, she leapt up into the air and stretched out her white wings, flying towards the throbbing outline of Uluru.

"She'll go looking for a watering hole," the young man said. "But she'll be back."

Someone called "Tommy!" and the man looked back over his shoulder, back at his family, and turned to join them where they were still chatting with Charlie. Everyone watched the dragon fly off until soon she looked no larger than a bird. Teddy wrapped a sticky hand around Victoire's shoulders and wondered how she knew to come back.

* * *

"You haven't heard anything from Harry?" Victoire asked, running his fingers over his weirdly smooth skin, all his painstakingly inked tattoos now washed over with plain, pale casting. She placed a hand on his neck and breathed in the smell of sea salt.

"I wrote to him to tell him we arrived, but nothing. Must have bigger fish to fry."

Wollongong was filled with slightly outdated surf shops and cafes that weren't too far from Austinmer Beach. The muggles moseyed along in their bathing suits, absorbing the heat of the summer as if immune to it, while Teddy and Victoire pounded the pavements eagerly trying to spot signs of magic. The coastal city was supposed to be a hotspot for wizards and witches, but they had yet to bump into any. The nature of their pre-organised, ' _surprise'_ honeymoon felt intentionally estranging, keeping them away from the world they were so familiar with and instead thrusting them into an entirely unmagical culture in an unfamiliar country.

They swum for a while, and the beach here was nothing like the beach by Victoire's home. The water was a deep blue under an azure sky, matching Teddy's hair.

"Surely there's a wizarding pub around here or something," Victoire muttered, her feet burning into the sand as she got out of the water. Teddy squinted about, shading his eyes with a hand.

"I dunno, everything looks really muggle."

"Why wouldn't they have at least given us a map or something?" Victoire muttered.

Draped in towels and dripping, they headed back up towards the beachfront shops and it was with a dramatic double take that Teddy hauled Victoire towards a public bench, where a man in pink shorts and a pair of grubby flip-flops was eating a sandwich.

"What?" Victoire hissed.

Teddy pointed at the man's satchel, where the corner of a newspaper peeked out. And on it, hardly noticeable at first, but then unmistakable, was a moving photograph.

"Er, excuse me," Teddy said loudly, his accent and volume catching the man's attention. The possibility that this was actually just a muggle caused him to hesitate. The man chewed his soggy sandwich slowly. "Er...would you happen to have a copy of today's paper?"

"No," the man said, throwing his crusts to a seagull.

"I swear, I thought I noticed—in your bag there—"

The man was squinting at them both suspiciously, hardly noticing the seagull now encroaching on his half-eaten sandwich. Victoire grabbed Teddy's arm and tried to tug him away, but the stranger stood and pointed one long finger at him.

"Lupin."

"Sorry?"

"You're Lupin. I recognised you from the blue hair. From the photos."

Victoire blinked at the stranger and then at Teddy, discerning from his face that he was just as surprised at being recognised.

"Er, yes, I did a short nude photo series for Witch Weekly back last June," Teddy mumbled to her, bouncing back from the surprise quickly. She rolled her eyes. He addressed the man again, this time with seriousness. "Sorry, which photos?"

He pulled out the newspaper from his satchel, and they were indeed right. It was a wizard's paper. It was entitled _The Gong Herald_ and had a moving picture of the local Quidditch team on the front. Victoire took the paper and hungrily began to leaf through it.

"Last year you were all over the papers. You people have been dominating the World News section for ages. Did you come down here to get away too?" Teddy shook his head in utter confusion, about to explain that they were on their Honeymoon, but the man went on. "All the other refugees headed up to the Blue Mountains. There are a lot of magic folk that way, and plenty of them are from the UK."

Teddy opened his mouth to enquire further, but Victoire interrupted him. She held up the newspaper, which was open to the international affairs pages. "Could we keep this?"

"Sure," the wizard shrugged. "I've already read it."

"Thanks for the help," she said, linking her arm through Teddy's. This time, she successfully dragged him away. Once they were out of earshot, she handed him the newspaper and gestured at the article. "We're going to the Blue Mountains."

* * *

 _REFUGEES SEEKING ASYLUM SETTLED AT THE THREE SISTERS_

 _This week, the influx of political refugees crossing Australian borders has reached its peak, as wizards and witches from the United Kingdom take their last opportunity to flee their country. In the wake of the previous failed coup, Britain's Prime Minister Gladstone has shut the borders of the United Kingdom, making it impossible to leave or enter the country through Apparition or Portkey. Those having received wind of the closed border policy following New Year's Eve took advantage of their last days of free movement._

 _This follows shortly after several werewolves took asylum in Australia late last year, many of which have been quarantined as a result of Australia's strict anti-werewolf policies. Others seeking asylum, such as political exiles or Squibs, have been relocated to the Blue Mountains, where they are expected to assimilate into the local wizarding community._

 _The strain of settling European refugees comes in the wake of the GFC. The Australian Ministry for Magic declared a Goblin Financial Crisis at the end of last year, when all metal products were no longer being traded internationally. Goblins residing in New Zealand have taken advantage of the market, raising the prices on metal deposits._

 _The future of Britain's government is uncertain, yet one thing is clear. The repercussions of the Gladstone Government are proving colossal on a global scale._

* * *

January was almost over and they were missing their English winter by the time Victoire and Teddy found their way to Leura, a small suburb just outside of the Blue Mountains. The air was still warm and heavy even at six o'clock, but the streets were filled with delicate wildflowers and bright sunshine that painted the streets gold. As they walked hand in hand, Teddy occasionally plucking flowers to tuck behind his and Victoire's sunburnt ears, they neared the outskirts of the village where the houses were further apart and the paddocks were wide and fenced.

They wandered, and wandered, their backpacks heavy on their spines but their steps light. About twenty minutes out of town, they approached a paddock with an enormous billboard posted by the side of the road, with a picture of dairy farmers across the front. As they drew closer, the image of the smiling farmer began to warp and shift until the sign was no longer an innocuous muggle ad. Instead it read _Detention Settlement._

"This must be it," Victoire said grimly, plunging forward. The facility slowly revealed itself to them. Behind the fence around the paddock was a makeshift camp full of rustic tents, pitched haphazardly through the field. Wizards stood along the perimeter with wands out and long lists floating beside them, with what looked to be names running down the scrolls. Both Teddy and Victoire's face darkened as they approached the guard. He was young and tanned with sandy hair and dark blue robes, perhaps only a year older than Teddy. He gave them both a snide look.

"You're strutting up very casually," he said, snapping his wand against his parchment. It flicked to attention, straightening up. "You on this list?"

"We're here for a visit," Victoire said.

"A visit? We don't allow _visits._ "

"I thought these people were supposed to be settled."

"We have to process them," the guard replied, now looking at the two travellers more closely. "You have tourist visas?"

Teddy shuffled in his bag to get them out, two pieces of parchment stamped with the Ministerial seal, given to them upon their departure of Grimmauld Place. It occurred to him for the first time that they had to be fake—an inside job, a ministry employee in the Order probably fixed it up—as Gladstone's new policies would make travelling out of Britain a near impossibility. The guard looked over their visas for a long while, and even insisted on checking that they had wands, before he was satisfied.

"In any case, only refugees get in. We don't allow visitors," he said again, looking quite firm. "So you can head off."

"We're here on official business," Victoire said with a surprisingly level of confidence. "I'm a foreign correspondent for the _Daily Prophet_."

"We don't let reporters in either," the guard replied snidely, although he didn't seem to doubt her claim. "You'll just have to get your interviews elsewhere."

Teddy gritted his teeth but willed himself to remain calm. Perhaps it was that this man was the same age as him, still really quite young, but old enough to know better. Or perhaps it was the way he looked at Victoire, from her blonde unwashed hair to her smooth, tanned legs. Instead, he turned his attention to the tents behind the fence, where he could see people lined up by water tanks or hanging up clothes. There were no faces he recognised, but he was too far to make anyone out clearly.

"If you want refugees to stop coming here, then you ought to be on our side," Victoire continued to argue evenly. "If we could get some answers—"

"Oh, honey, what do you really reckon you'll achieve? You of all people."

Victoire didn't respond this time. Her arms wound their way over her chest and she planted her boots in the ground, clearly deciding she was not about to budge. Teddy, on the other hand, whipped around in indignation.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he demanded. " _You_ of all people. Do you have any idea who she is?"

"She looks like a little princess who's come to this place on her daddy's allowance with her hippy boyfriend, and I'd say she wouldn't survive ten minutes living in a camp like this."

"Oi," Teddy snapped, his chest swelling, a response that only emphasised how thin and narrow it was to begin with, "I'd have it known that Victoire is one hundred per cent the big spoon in the relationship, she _always_ kills the spiders in our apartment and she's probably the _bravest_ person I know so if you don't take that pole out of your arse I'll do it for you and then beat you over the head with it."

The guarded shuddered under the ferocity of Teddy's words, but Victoire stopped him from issuing any further threats by planting a firm hand on her husband's shoulder, "Alright, that's _quite_ enough." She turned back to the guard and shrugged nonchalantly. "I think you were just saying that we'd be allowed in for an hour or so to ask questions."

The guard blinked at her, staring first at her pursed lips and then at her raised eyebrows. He nodded a little stupidly.

"And you were going to write us some documentation to prove we're allowed to stay."

"Sure."

"What's happening?" Teddy faltered, unclenching his fist. The guard was taking another scroll of parchment from his belt and tapping his wand against it.

"I Confunded him while you were defending my honour." Victoire accepted the parchment and tucked it into her pocket. "Come on."

They pushed on through the fence and headed into the camp, ducking under makeshift clotheslines with stained sheets and grubby clothes. There were a lot of children, most of them walking around barefoot on the grass or dirt, their feet black as they chased each other or played pretend duels with sticks. The adults were far grimmer. For the first time in a fortnight, they heard accents that sounded like theirs, voices with similar twangs, but hardy any sounded familiar.

Teddy took Victoire's hand.

"Teddy Lupin?"

It was always Teddy who got recognised. Victoire's name and face appeared just as often in the papers, but Teddy's hair made him memorable. They both turned around, but the person facing them was not a stranger. In fact, her lined and tired face made Teddy's heart skip.

"Linda!"

"Don't tell me you've ended up in this camp," she said, her face drained of colour. "Surely the Order is still going."

"We're on our Honeymoon actually." Teddy raised his and Victoire's joint hands, giving the evidence of their wedding rings. They approached Linda through the line of tents, where she drew near to them now, issuing a dry 'Congratulations'. Teddy's old boss, a once lively and affectionate woman, looked utterly washed out and grey.

"Let's talk in our tent. It's not safe here."

They threaded their way back through the campsite until they found her shabby canvas tent. Linda Spinelli held open the flap to allow them both inside, then with a quick look over her shoulder, she followed. Teddy and Victoire were used to magical tents with their deceivingly smaller exteriors, but this structure was hardly much bigger than a single bedroom. There was no kitchen or bathroom, rather just four mattress lined up against the floor, and a rucksack full of clothes.

"Take a seat on Alexa's mattress, she won't mind. She's out playing with a few of the others."

"How is she?"

"Adjusting better to this than I am," she laughed, moving some clothes to clear the bedspace. "We've been here since they first opened the camp and they still haven't settled us. More and more people keep arriving."

Linda went on to explain that they had their wands confiscated upon arrival in the country, as they had arrived without visas. At first, Linda had been kept in a prison with her daughter but once other refugees had arrived from the United Kingdom, all seeking asylum, they were moved to the camp. There had been ten of them originally. Now, this facility was bordering on two hundred. Despite their desire to know more, to press for greater details, it was Linda who wanted to hear from them, starved as they all had been of news from their homeland. What had happened to the Government? Had Gladstone successfully built up a goblin army or had it backfired? What had happened to the werewolves who hadn't been able to leave the country? What had happened to those who _had_ managed it?

Sadly, they had little they could tell her. It felt like Victoire and Teddy had been just as much in the dark as she had.

"They've shut down the Prophet, there's no channels of information, what we hear is through rumours or spies," Teddy said, shaking his head.

"We have wands," Victoire added, her voice urgent. "And it was easy for us to Confund that guard. I reckon we could bust you all out of here."

"No, please," Linda said, looking even more tired. "There's no point stirring up trouble. People have managed to escape this camp, but then what? They've hid in the countryside for a few weeks? They end up getting caught and brought back here. We're wandless in a country that doesn't want us. The best we can hope for is that things settle back down in England and we can return."

"Well, we can at least help a little," Victoire said, extracting her wand. She pointed it at the clothes inside the rucksack and did her best to clean them with a series of Scouring Charms. She conjured up a few blankets and threw them over the mattress. As she got to work, Linda grasped Teddy's hand tightly. A pang went through his heart. He thought of his first internship at the Welfare Agency, and Spinelli's graciousness in hiring him with such little experience. He thought of all the campaigns they had run—Elf rights, Centaur land rights, Merpeople rights—and of all the times she had asked his opinion, sent him letters in the middle of the night about rallies or conferences. All the good work they had done, the lives they had changed, the clinics they had opened and the laws that were amended. Here she was, squatting in a tent, in the position of those they once used to help.

"We were fooled, Teddy. We got complacent and we stopped thinking," she said, some urgency now finding its way into her reedy voice. "We just believed and repeated everything they told us. We didn't even stop to question our own rhetoric."

"It wasn't just us, Linda. It was everyone."

"I know. I know, we're all responsible. But Teddy, you need to get back to England. You need to start thinking and start fighting. Things are going to get worse before they get better."

In that moment, with Victoire conjuring up little jars to fill with jets of fresh water, and the once formidable Linda Spinelli clutching Teddy's hand with nothing left to hold onto but hope, in that moment it occurred to Teddy that Harry had gotten them out of the country with no plan or proposal of how to get them back in.

* * *

It was February fourteenth, and the saints rolled in their graves as the frosty winds sighed through London, the houses of Islington crammed tightly side-by-side as if they were huddling for warmth. With a quiet pop, the ripple of an Invisible Cloak, and the click of a door, the two youth rebellion fighters snuck back into Grimmauld place, shaking dust from their hair.

Rowan reached the drawing room first, his sneakers still in his left hand and his wand in the other. Molly closed the door behind them and pulled her black beanie off her head, allowing her short, bleached hair to fall back over her ears. A crack ran through Molly's clear-framed spectacles, a spiderwebs' thread winding through the glass, forcing her to squint as the younger man dropped his shoes on the dusty carpet. They were both grimy and shivering; young hearts pumping young blood through bodies that were tired and bruised.

He crossed to her, reaching up to gently slide the glasses from her face. Molly blinked at him, her vision now blurry. Rowan's sweet, sombre face was set as he tapped his wand to the glass, repairing the damage. When he looked back up, the fuzzy outline of his smile looked as pained as ever, more of a grimace than a grin. "I've never really seen your eyes before."

"I've heard that one before, Finnigan," she sighed, taking her glasses back and returning them to the bridge of her nose.

Now with complete clarity, she watched him tuck his wand into his jeans and noticed the dirt caked under his nails.

Rowan hesitated, hand held up and eyes alert. He took one step towards the door, ear cocked. "Can you hear talking?"

Molly listened, too. It was merely the sound of low voices, rising and falling quietly. "It's probably just Harry speaking into his amulet."

"It was brilliant getting to be out. Doing real things—with _Harry Potter_ of all people," Rowan said, still a little breathless. "And you. You as well."

"Partners in crime," she agreed. Her ears were still ringing a little. She clicked her fingers next to them, hoping to cure the shock. Collapsing tunnels was not quiet work. "They're trying to get into Hogwarts," Molly said.

"You think?"

"Well, they're tunnelling up to the mountain. There's no other reason to construct catacombs under Hogsmeade unless they want to get into Hogwarts."

"To do what?" Rowan asked cautiously.

Molly scowled, crossing to light the fireplace. "I dunno, but it's making me anxious," she huffed. "Half my family's there."

"Mine too," Rowan agreed.

Somehow, this twinged her a little more than Rowan probably meant it to. It really _was_ half of his family—his two brothers. And the idea of him losing anyone else made her feel a bit sick. Descending into that tunnel tonight with Rowan Finnigan behind her, breathing on her neck, sharply conjured the reasons he was fighting beside her, the older man with the same blood and name who had given his life for Molly.

"I should go," Rowan said, shuffling his weight from hip to hip. After a moment, he bent down and pulled his shoes back on, then moved past her toward the door. Molly turned quickly, her cheeks flushed.

"You don't have to go."

Rowan paused, his back to her and his hand on the doorknob.

"I mean…I mostly stay here now that my family's relocated." Hearing the desperation in her own voice, Molly began to back pedal, aiming for nonchalance. "You're probably tired after tonight, and it'll save you Apparating home. And, contrary to popular belief, I don't particularly like being alone."

Rowan turned again, his autumnal eyes rueful. "Yeah, I get that. But my mum doesn't like being alone either." He checked his watch and leaned into the door, looking truly regretful now, as if the last thing he wanted to do was turn the knob. "I—"

"No, it's fine," Molly said, shooing him on.

"You know, Molly, I've really liked going on these missions with you," he said, completely earnest. "And I'm glad I joined the Order, mostly because we've become good friends out of this."

"This isn't the time for sentiment."

"Well, it sort of is, isn't it?" Rowan smiled, and a Rowan smile was rare so she revelled in it. "Because people are dying every day, people are fleeing the country, so if there's a time for sentiment, I suppose it's—"

In two quick steps, with her fists balled up at her sides, Molly pressed her lips against Rowan's half-open mouth, swallowing the end of his sentence. By the time she had pulled back, the younger man looked as if he wanted to say a whole lot else, but she was already pushing him into the door, which opened under his shoulder and sent him into the hallway.

"Don't keep your mum waiting," she said, with a little sad smile. "I'll see you later."

* * *

It was February fourteenth, and many people across many settings were ending the evening with a bang. There was only one particular couple doing so at Hogwarts. Imogen zipped up her dress robes and banged her way out of the bathroom stall, crossing to the mirrors opposite to check her reflection. Gently, she rubbed away the kohl smudged under her eyes with the pad of her thumb and blinked at her own likeness as it was spun back at her, moody and uninspired despite how flawless the night had been. The sweat on her back and legs made the fabric of her dress stick to her skin, but it didn't matter. She would be on her way back to the common room now. The party was done and so was she.

The zip of trousers punctuated the silence like a period, finishing things. The bathroom stall swung open again and Zabini leaned against it this time, straightening his tie. Imogen's eyes moved to him in the reflection of the mirror. At least the rumours about him were true. He _did_ know what he was doing, which was a pleasant surprise considering how useless most teenage boys proved to be.

He walked up to her, sliding his hands onto her hips, this movement now a repetition. It always surprised Imogen how little it mattered when a boy touched her body, how she felt nothing. She stared at them both in the mirror, framed by the border; they were a pretty picture. She blinked at herself.

"What are _you_ two doing in here?" a shrill voice pierced the air, "This is the _girl's_ bathroom."

"Sod off, Myrtle," Imogen muttered. "No one is in the mood."

" _Clearly_ ," the ghost sobbed, drawing up into the air. "I'll be telling people about _this_."

After she descended back into a toilet, Imogen turned to face Zabini again, her bottom now against the lip of the sink, and her back to her reflection.

"Don't worry. She's caught me a few times and I've never gotten in trouble."

She thought back to her first time, in this bathroom, with a larking boy from the year above, both fumbling with nerves and inexperience despite him bragging about all the girls he had been with. By now, she was sure that he _had_ been with many girls since, but Andre Zabini was a far better shag than Lorcan Scamander had been. At least in her books. Myrtle had caught them then, right at the end of the act, and Imogen had been certain she was done for, sleepless and sick for days, expecting to be expelled at any moment. There was never a peep about it. In fact, she was certain that no one even knew.

"We need to find somewhere a bit classier than a toilet."

"So a broom closet?" he said.

The implication that this would happen again roused something in her, something that made her think of delicate snowflakes and heart shaped chocolates and green eyes that flashed with earnest.

He was leaning in to kiss her again, his mouth still warm as his lips parted in anticipation, when Imogen asked, "Have you ever dated anyone?"

He leaned back, kiss forgotten. The question put him on edge, his heavy lips pursed. "No?"

"Neither have I," she said. "But we could, if you wanted to."

He hesitated, about to say something, but seemed to change his mind. Instead, he asked smoothly, "What would dating look like?"

She shrugged, her coat hanger shoulders moving up and down. "Like this, I suppose. Doing this and not sneaking around about it."

"I…could do that."

"Brilliant," she said, face as dull as ever. "We keep it casual, no strings attached. No expectations, no timelines, no anniversaries." She brushed her hair over her shoulder and pushed off the sink. "My only condition is, you can't fall in love with me."

Zabini's face split into a brilliant, relieved grin. "Baby girl, you will never have to worry about that."

* * *

It was not yet March, but the chill that had been biting at the air in the last month was beginning to recede, but not enough that you could go barefoot on the floorboards. Dominique was sitting on her bed, feet half tucked under the blankets to stay warm, while Fred sat on her dresser opposite, his tight curls reflected in the mirror behind him, his shoulders—bunched and tensed—spun back at Dominique in the glass. Their parents were downstairs talking.

"We could go out, go have a drink at the Leaky Cauldron," Dominique suggested.

He shrugged, his shoulders rippling. Dominique could read more from the reflection of his back than the look on his face. "I don't like being out, Dom."

"Let's make the most of it while we can," she said, kicking off her blankets.

Their parents were outside, George and Angelina speaking to Fleur and Bill, voices always that same low rumble—not in the kitchen, with the switched on wireless continually rumbling and listening, but on the porch, where the sea's roar killed their conversation. Conversation that they were still excluded from, even now, even when they were on the Order.

"We're ducking down to Diagon Alley for an hour," Dominique said, pulling on her coat. "We'll be back soon."

"Are you sure that's the best idea?" Angelina said, looking at their children.

Fred tapped on the amulet he wore around his neck, tucked beneath his shirt. "If we need you, we'll call you."

They Flooed to The Leaky Cauldron, where the bar was crowded with goblins and wizards hunched over drinks. The wireless was set up above the range of bottles, a cheery voice issuing all the achievements of the current government in a repetitious tone. Words upon words, words that had hardly made sense. In the week where Gladstone had been in hospital, all the radios had gone quiet. It was quite astounding, the sudden silence on all channels. Then, the Monday after the coup, the usual announcer was back on air, reassuring everyone that the Minister for Magic was well and in office, continuing business as usual. The coup was never mentioned; Gladstone's poisoning was written off as an illness, and suddenly, the newspapers stopped printing anything about the goblin's rebellion.

Despite Fred's initial reluctance, he was the one to order their drinks, keeping close to Dominique the whole time. It felt as if she was always leaning against a wall, her shoulder and arm pressed into the hard muscle of his chest. They took their drinks and sat near the back, under the stairs, where they could see the street below. People continued to and fro, moving into shops or the pearly marble Gringotts, moneybags tucked into their belts.

"Everyone is getting money out of their vaults," Fred said, watching the people coming and going. "Because they're afraid the government will seize everything in Gringotts. No one says that's the reason, but that's why they're doing it."

"We did that ages ago," Dominique shrugged, sipping on her butterbeer. "Just good sense, I suppose."

"No, it's utter madness." Fred continued to brood, his dark eyebrows drawing together, creasing up his forehead. Everything about him was dark in that moment; not merely his eyes and hair and skin, but his mood. "Gladstone's purged half the government, there's almost no one left. We didn't even have an acting Minister for a week but everyone just carried on as normal."

A shadow fell over their table and the cousins looked up, quick and sharp, expecting retribution for words spoken to carelessly. Garrett Cresswell smiled at them both, his basset eyes as bloodshot as they usually where at Order meetings. They had only spoken to him once or twice, and always in the presence of the other adults, but he addressed them with familiarity. "Hello. Enjoying a drink while you can, is that right?"

"You guessed it," Dominique said, drawing closer to Fred. She extended a hand. Cresswell took an empty chair from a nearby table and joined them.

"Something big is coming up," Cresswell said, placing his own glass of gillywater on the table. Both Fred and Dominique carried an air of surprise, not used to be confided in like this. Despite being in the Order now, their parents still tiptoed around them, only letting them know what information had to be known. Cresswell's candidness made them stretch slightly, feel a bit older. "I was having a word with a few goblins and it looks as if the end of the government is drawing very close."

"It's ended already, hasn't it?" Dominique shrugged. "Not officially, but it has all basically fallen to pieces."

"I don't understand this," Fred said, turning back to the window, scouting the street until his eyes landed on his father's joke shop. "Our system has failed, but no one is doing anything. People are just pretending like everything's normal. They're just going about their business."

"It's called hypernormalisation," Cresswell smiled, a tired and worn out smile. "A muggle phenomenon. No one can conceive any alternative to the status quo. Both politicians and citizens are resigned to maintaining a pretence of a functioning society, so everyone just…"

"Pretends that everything's fine," Fred finished, nodding. "But it's not."

"No, it's not," Cresswell agreed.

Again, they turned to look out at the street, where a goblin was entering an apartment block and wiping his shoes on the steps behind him, face uncomfortable and rigid.

"They hate it, living above ground," Cresswell acknowledged. "But it's almost better than living in the Goblin Kingdom now."

"What's it like there?" Dominique asked, resting her head on her hand.

Cresswell turned back to them both and chuckled; again, it was hollow and tired, the way a professor might discuss an interesting but rather depressing topic. "You best ask one of the new goblins in the Order. I've only been to the Goblin Kingdom once. All I know is that goblins are coming here in masses, trying to escape the King. Meanwhile, huge numbers of witches and wizards have fled to other parts of Europe so that our numbers here have diminished. Those that have remained are joining the Order in droves. We're living in an age of mass exodus."

"But everyone is carrying on as if it's normal," Fred said, looking back out onto Diagon Alley.

"Yes," Cresswell agreed sadly. "Perhaps because it has become the norm."

* * *

A great deal of the time spent in between classes was dedicated to gossiping about the scene Scorpius and Rose had caused at Bellucci's party. The conspiracies circulating around the duo since their outlandish pseudo-break up had hummed like an undercurrent through the school, with several stories circulating as to what really was the truth—the most simple versions implied that Scorpius had asked Rose, and then asked Mary to the party. The more grandiose rumours involved a love affair that had begun sometime in their fourth year. The absolutely civil terms by which the two Slytherin prefects regarded each other made it all the more puzzling.

Most of the Slytherin sixth years had been told it was a prank, which no one doubted—for who would believe that Scorpius Malfoy was dating Rose Weasley? Both Zabini and Isabella remained tight-lipped about it, and gave away no more information than anyone else already had.

But no one was thirsting after information more than Albus Severus Potter was. In fact, he was desperate for it. His entire family were prodding him and poking him for answers; who had won the bet? Was the other night _evidence_ of a break up, or proof that something was about to happen? Better yet, was Albus right? Were Rose and Scorpius so romantically incompatible that there really were destined to be friends?

The two infamous Slytherins arrived just in time as the doors to the Great Hall opened, leading into a now empty hall that had several rows of hoops laid out on the floor. It was time to learn to Apparate. The mélange of nerves and excitement could be tasted in the air as the teenagers pushed themselves into the hall, lining up beside the hoops.

Albus gauged his two best friends uneasily. They greeted him casually and then proceeded into the hall also, examining the room. Both were acting completely inoffensive. Albus stood between the two.

"Is that Professor Longbottom at the front of the hall?" Rose asked, standing on her toes. "How odd. Don't they usually send a Ministry certified wizard?"

"I don't think the Department of Transportation can spare anyone," Scorpius speculated, watching as the Deputy Headmaster collected the permission slips with a wave of his wand. They sailed through the air like white birds, fluttering down into a pile beside him.

It was time to get to the bottom of what had happened at Bellucci's party. With resolve, Albus asked, "So, er, is everything alright with you two after the other night?"

"Oh, sure, we sorted things out," Rose said brightly.

"We don't really want to talk about it now. What's past is past," Scorpius agreed, with a tone that brought an end to the conversation. Albus had no opportunity to argue, or to even evaluate what this cryptic answer meant. Professor Longbottom had placed his wand to his neck and was speaking over the heads of the students.

There was no explanation given as to why a Ministry official had failed to give the Apparition course. There was little room to question anything. Professor Longbottom was curt and to the point, his voice ringing with an authority he rarely used in the classroom.

"This is not a game or a sport. This is serious magic, and it can have serious consequences if used incorrectly."

Scorpius was staring stoically ahead, listening to all of Professor Longbottom's instructions with intent. Albus shuffled closer to Rose. "If there's something going on between you two, I'd at least like to know."

"Why do you have to treat everything so seriously?" Rose shrugged, her smile wry with reckless abandon. "Maybe what we had going was just a…a game. Maybe we just liked the drama."

He huffed, and tried to tune back into Professor Longbottom's words. He hardly heard a thing he was saying.

"Are you _really_ okay?" Albus asked, attempting for a tone of concern, for Scorpius was too private to give details merely for the sake of his curiosity. "After what went down with Rose?"

"What went down?" Scorpius fired back, the response loaded but dismissive, his face stoic and cold. He shrugged, still staring at Professor Longbottom.

"It isn't something you'll get right away, but all you need to do is remember the Three D's: Destination, Determination and Deliberation."

"Desperation, Disappointment and Discontent," Scorpius said, his face giving away nothing. He laughed a little bitterly.

Albus could have screamed. All they were doing was confusing him further.

There was no chance to press on with his questions; Professor Longbottom was talking them through the exercise of Apparition, taking off his sweeping robes so he could demonstrate on the podium. Several girls and a few boys craned their necks to watch his taut body turn, swish then disappear, only to pop back into the present across the floor, in the assigned hoop.

"This will just be a practice run," their Professor called out gruffly, walking between the aisles as he corrected the student's stances. "No magic required. Just practice the movement. Let's try it, on the count of three. One—two—thre—"

 _CRACK_.

The sound caused half the room to shriek, students stopping mid-spin to check what had happened. Scorpius and Rose forgot about their faux brooding and tomfooleries; instead they looked at the gap between them, and then at the empty hoop on the floor. At the very front of the Great Hall, standing with his arms still outstretched and his mouth agape was Albus Potter.

"What just _happened_?" he gasped, grabbing at his heart.

Professor Longbottom hurried towards him at a light jog, arriving at his side only to nervously check he hadn't splinched himself. Upon the first assessment, he stood back, slightly amazed.

"Well, I think Albus may have jumped the wand, so to speak. You're a natural," he patted a still stunned Albus on the shoulder. "Try to get in the hoop next time."

"It was supposed to be a practice run," Scorpius said when Albus joined them at the back of the hall, after a long walk past many giggling Gryffindors. "Leave the over-achieving to the over achievers."

"Oh, sod off," Albus said, his face very pink, and very determinedly staring into his hoop.

No one else picked it up as quickly as Albus, not even after half a dozen practices. There were very few cracks around the hall, but occasionally swear words would be heard after failed attempts. Lucy Bird was the next person to get it, appearing in her hoop after the seventh try. Rose got there next, whooping loudly upon success and making it very publically known she had achieved the results. Eventually, everyone had Apparate at least once, with the exception of one person.

"This is embarrassing," Scorpius seethed, turning yet again on the spot to little results.

"You just need to focus."

"You just need to keep your mouth shut."

"Come on, Scorpius, you've almost got it. Just turn a little faster," Rose said encouragingly, clapping her hands like the member of a personal cheer squad. Puffing up his chest, Scorpius squeezed his eyes shut, focused hard, and spun wildly in a circle. When he opened his eyes, it was to find himself in his hoop. He beamed triumphantly, but his face fell the moment he saw both Rose and Albus cackling.

"What?"

"You didn't Apparate," Rose giggled. "You just jumped into the hoop."

"This is absolute rubbish."

In the end, Scorpius was forced to admit defeat. He would have other opportunities to practice, but it was with great shamefacedness that he stepped out of his hoop and formally surrendered at the end of class. Professor Longbottom stood by him, several of the hoops over his shoulder, students filing out and chatting animatedly as they moved onto their next class.

"Don't worry, it took me a while too," their Professor reassured him.

"If only my failures weren't so public," he muttered, grabbing his schoolbag and pulling it over his shoulder. Rose laughed, nudging him with her shoulder and taking a few steps with Albus towards the doors.

"Actually, Scorpius, could I have a word?"

He felt the two cousins stiffen behind him, Rose and Albus watching with trepidation that Scorpius had been singled out. Professor Longbottom waved them on, and so it was just he and his favourite Professor left behind in the large, echoing hall.

"I'm sure I will eventually get the hang of it," Scorpius said, feeling a bit insulted to have been separated. His Professor shook his head, running a hand over the stubble that had grown into his jaw.

"I have two matters that need to be discussed. The first—you and Rose. That was quite a scene at Bellucci's party."

"Ah," Scorpius said. Their flamboyant performance and the havoc that had subsequently followed had felt like harmless fun, enough to keep both he and Rose giddy in the days that followed. For once, he was in on a prank that the other Potter-Weasleys were not. Under the piercing look of Professor Longbottom, the potential consequences—and consequences were always so close to the periphery of his mind—had loomed back in. To think, he could act fool-heartedly without looking like a fool. "It was not what it seemed."

"Could you care to explain it then?"

"Her family are making bets on whether we're in a relationship or not. So, once we found out, we thought we'd mess with them a bit."

Some amusement touched the corners of his Professor's lips. He nodded sombrely. "I suppose we should leave it at that then. More pressingly, Bellucci."

"Yes," Scorpius said, exhaling now that he knew no repercussion was in store. He waited for more.

Professor Longbottom hesitated once more, his brows drawing together as the words ticked over, forming carefully. "I just wanted to warn you."

"Warn me, sir?"

"You are very close with her—which is not an issue. I suppose we are very close, too, for a teacher and a student. But I would keep Bellucci at an arm's distance if I were you."

This time, it was Scorpius' turn to hesitate. These words, this warning, had a more discombobulating effect than all his attempts of Apparition. "Why's that?"

They were alone, but Professor Longbottom still lowered his voice. "Just be wary. Her intentions aren't always crystal clear." Then, he drew back, the hoops hooked over the crook of his arm clattering as he moved away jovially. "I'll see you in Herbology this afternoon. Try not to cause any more scenes."

* * *

The match was only ten minutes in and already the Slytherins had screamed themselves hoarse. Alice Lim was clearing the way for Meredith Maxwell to shoot, and while the Slytherin team was about to make their first goal, Isabella noticed—high, _high_ up in the stands—James Potter sitting uncharacteristically alone. His turtleneck sweater was pulled up over his chin and mouth, so his nose poked out like a beak. As the Slytherins cheered, Isabella climbed up to the highest of bleachers, wobbling on the way up. James noticed her and smiled a little, scooting over.

"Where's Lorcan?" she asked.

"Didn't you notice?" James said, raising his eyebrows. "He's commentating the match."

It was Lorcan after all, his voice warbling in a mock-1940s trill. " _There goes Norton, still absolutely flabbergasted a twelve year old could get by his Keeper, truly a blow for the Eagle's Captain, folks. Now, let me redirect your attention to Slytherin's Sterling, a veteran on their team…_ "

"He suits it," Isabella smiled, tucking her hair into her scarf to keep it from blowing on her face.

James sat next to her, his body slowly easing. They had spent so many evenings in the Room of Requirement, talking, occasionally snogging, but mostly just…talking. Sometimes, James talked about Claretta, whom he insisted had a sense of humour that only they understood, and knew his drink order and never cut him off. Sometimes, he talked about that night deep under the ground. Watching a goblin torn in half like a paper doll. Seeing a map that he was never supposed to see. Feeling like things were still biting on his ankles. Sometimes, he talked about his parents, who he admired so much, or his siblings, who he loved so dearly. He often talked about Quidditch. Isabella talked too—about her father starting to wish he had made a stance about Gladstone earlier and more openly—and about her mother and the level of strain she always seemed to carry. She spoke about feeling invisible at home, and craving attention at school. About craving _his_ attention. Zabini was nowhere to be found at the Quidditch match. She had scoured the Slytherin stands in search of him.

When they were alone, just the two of them, he had a habit of reaching out to touch her. Never in a particularly sexual way, but certainly in a sensual way. He would trace his fingertips over her arms while she talked, or else ran his hands through her hair over and over, pedantically. It felt nice, the tactility making her tingle, but it was also sanguine and platonic. They only ever cuddled and kissed, and rarely that. They mostly talked.

Right now, James wasn't talking. He was watching the game closely, his eyes zipping from player to player. Another set of cheers from the Slytherins, and even from the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs.

"That Meredith Maxwell is on fire," James muttered, watching her. "And she's on a bloody Cleansweep."

"She works well with Lim and Sterling," Isabella agreed, turning to them again.

James laughed a little. "So, I assume you won't be hooking up at the after party with Sterling?"

"Not really my type," she sighed, rolling her eyes. She tucked her hands under her legs.

"Merlin, she scored _again_."

He reached out absently, and ran his fingertips over her back, as if he was scratching a cat. It was frenetic, she knew. To keep his hands busy.

"James."

"Mm?"

"There's a Hogsmeade weekend coming up next month."

"Yeah, there's usually one each month."

"Would you like to meet up at the Three Broomsticks?"

James twitched towards her and dropped his hand. "Like…a date?"

"Well, no," she blushed. "Just to hang out. Like friends."

He smiled a little ruefully, a crooked smile that pulled up higher on the right. "Yeah, I'd like that."

" _And Meredith Maxwell scores again. Looks like the Slytherins have a strong lead at this point, Ravenclaw are struggling to get possession of the Quaffle. I've never seen a kid play quite this well. Shame she wasn't sorted into Gryffindor…_ "

* * *

The Merpeople drifted behind the stained glass, at first annoyed, and then bemused, at the uncharacteristic pandemonium unfolding in the Slytherin Common room. Music shook the furniture, students clamoured into the chamber with alcohol and banners, still a little wet from the two hour Quidditch match that had been smattered with late February rain.

The stone passageway opened and the team tumbled through the doorway only to be met by raucous outbursts from their fans. Wands were raised and silver streamers burst into the air, coiling like snakes before falling over the shoulders of the players. Scorpius was almost bowled over from the noise. Rose and Toby were grinning tiredly, waving blistered hands at the crowd. And then, the Chasers came through. Alice Lim and Jonathan Sterling had carried their star player on their shoulders, Meredith's face beaming and sweaty and wild as she was bounced through the door. Sterling was still wild, having wrapping his arm around Meredith's skinny leg like a vice, and hollering at the room, "On a Cleansweep! 460 points on a Cleansweep!"

As soon as they had caught sight of her, the chant resumed. "MAX-WELL—MAX-WELL—MAX-WELL!" The same chant that had rung throughout the entire stadium as Meredith had scored her twentieth goal, a chant that had not stopped since. The crowd surged forward, hand spread out as if reaching, reaching for the glory this second-year had given them. Meredith was swept off the Chaser's shoulders and ferried through the room, feet never touching the floor, surfing over the arms of her fellow Slytherins. Sterling whooped and picked up Alice, swinging her around and placing her unsteadily on her feet, which almost gave way.

"Speech!" People screamed, "Speech!" and Scorpius found his way to a table, and climbed atop it, his hair wet and windswept and wispy with waves. Someone handed him a glass of liquor which Rose swapped with gillywater and he stood tall on his makeshift plinth, heart still pumping as the crowd swooned. Meredith was still resting on the shoulders of the seventh years, her height equal to his above the crowd, and he raised his glass to her. Any words that were about to leave his mouth were drowned out as the Slytherin stomped their feet and started the chant again.

"MAX-WELL—MAX-WELL—MAX-WELL—"

When they quieted, Scorpius said in a hoarse voice, "This will be the game of the century. There's no way the other teams can catch up now. We won this match, but we've also won the Quidditch Cup."

This was met with hollering again as everyone went wild. Meredith was bounced on everyone's shoulders, squeaking like a mouse.

"Everyone played brilliantly. But it was the Chasers who stole the show this time. To Meredith Maxwell," Scorpius said, saluting her with his glass. "Now, imagine her on a Nimbus! Meredith, the sky is your limit."

Like a gentlemen, Scorpius tipped his head and raised his glass. Meredith's sweaty face beamed, her eyes glossy and wild.

Glasses turned upwards, heads tipped back, throats gulped down liquor like columns collapsing and then there was the shatter of glass on the floor, tinkering and crunching, and the screams of the crowd. Never had the Slytherins been so uncivilised, not for over a century. The music began to pound as Isabella dropped a needle on her turntable. Even the portraits on the walls were stunned by the riot.

Scorpius' feet found the ground, the soles of his boots chewing the shards that were quickly turning to powder underfoot. Rose wound her arm through his and pointed towards Meredith, who was being tossed and twisted over the crowd of admirers like a ragdoll, her yellow ribbon having come undone.

"This is too much for her," Rose shouted. "We need to get her out of here."

"I'm on it," Scorpius agreed. "Hold onto my arm, please."

They pushed their way into the crowd, manoeuvring through sharp elbows and shoulders, Rose trailing behind Scorpius as he made his way to the centre of the room. A minute later, he and Rose were pushing their way out of the crowd, Meredith between them, their arms looped through hers as they buffered their way out of the throng.

With the music pounding and victory reverberating through the afternoon, no one noticed the three slip down the boy's dormitory staircase, except perhaps for the Merpeople who drifted behind the glass, still utterly perplexed.

A few minutes later, Meredith and Rose found themselves waiting outside of the communal boy's lavatories, resting on the stone walls. Meredith's skinny chest was rising and falling rapidly as she tried to catch her breath, her eyes still wet and wild, the chant of her name probably pumping her heart. Rose leaned over to tie the ribbon in her hair with blistered fingers.

"The other teams will never catch up now," Rose said warmly, tightening the bow. It perched in Meredith's hair like a bumblebee. "460 points in a single match."

"On a _Cleansweep_ ," Meredith repeated, bouncing on her heels. "Imagine how I'll fly when I finally get that Nimbus!"

Rose chuckled, about to tell her not to get too big of a head, when Scorpius called from within that they could come in. Meredith was too hyped up to ask her usual barrage of questions, instead peering into the gaping pipe now revealed near the latrines. Scorpius gestured with a hand. "Ladies first."

"Er…" Meredith hesitated. Rose laughed, offering instead to go first. She headed down the pipe, her fingers clinging to the rungs and Meredith followed right afterwards, eager now that she could trust Rose, her heels almost hitting the top of Rose's head.

She was expecting the chamber to be as she had last left it, but when she finally reached the bottom of the ladder and turned around, Rose's breath was stolen from her chest. The circular chamber, with its periodically spaced pipes dwindling into the darkness, was no longer empty and cold. A carpet had been rolled out on the floor, absorbing some of the cold. The chamber was filled with half a dozen cauldrons, set up around the room like little islands, fires burning beneath. Clouds of colourful smoke rose in columns, puffing out pink and purple and blue plumes.

"Oh _wow_ ," Meredith gasped. The colours of the cauldrons lit up her face in splashes of neon. She darted between each potion, peering in, her eyes wide. Scorpius dropped down beside Rose, dusting the rust from his hands.

"What is all this?" Rose said, shaking her head.

"Just experiments for Alchemy. Now that I've finally brewed the Wolfsbane, I want to start playing with it. Finding a panacea."

He smiled as he watched Meredith move from cauldron to cauldron, scurrying like a mouse.

"Surely the potion ingredients I got you have run out by now."

"Stella leant me the additional ingredients," Scorpius said. When Rose raised her eyebrows, he quickly corrected, "I, er, meant Professor Bellucci."

"Right," Rose said with a smug look.

With a little _humph_ , Meredith collapsed on the carpet between all the cauldrons, her arms and legs spread out like a starfish and her face utterly content. The two prefects hovered over her.

"Are you alright, Maxwell?" Rose said, nudging her with her foot.

"I'm perfect."

Scorpius laughed, and he knelt down beside her. Rose followed suit, and the two of them lay on either side of Meredith, between the multi-coloured clouds of smoke hovering all around, warm from the steam.

"This doesn't feel real," Meredith sighed.

"What? Winning the match?"

"No. Magic. I just can't believe any of this is real."

The two older Slytherins smiled fondly as Rose slipped her hand into Meredith's, and Meredith's little fingers found Scorpius'. The three of them rested on the carpet, with the heat and colour of the potions brewing around them, and the party throbbing above them, and everything was technicolour.

* * *

These moments really amount to nothing.

They would not impact the grand scheme of things. In fact, they were brief and short, cloudy breaths caught in between the great big pieces that made up the winter of that year. February flirted with March and the cold began to thaw.

But as the snow melted and spring brushed the earth, there was a change. A momentum. A disaster was coming; a colossal collapse, a shredding of all things familiar. For better or for worse, it was upon them. There was no avoiding it, no denying it. The world was in revolt.

* * *

 **A/N: CAN YOU SAY FILLER CHAPTER OR WHAT? Sorry for the wait and the cruel little cliff-hangers.**

 **This chapter is dedicated to Nicole who forced me to take a break, and then edited this for me with very few long-suffering sighs.**


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**A/N: For strong language, blood and violence etc? ...** **But c'mon, you know what you've signed up for.**

* * *

—CHAPTER SIXTEEN—

ALL LEADERS MUST STEP DOWN

OR THE KOBOLD KÖNIGE WILL STRIKE

Carved into the shopfronts of Diagon Alley, burning in flaming red on the Minister of Magic's office door. March began with death threats, but no other action. The words were found on the walls of Gringotts, followed by a list of names. Gladstone's name was listed at the top, as well as the Goblin King's. Yet other names were listed, too—Morgana, Shacklebolt, Granger, Potter—and there was an ominous malevolence to the names, listed like a rollcall.

The papers didn't report on it. In fact, the papers weren't even being printed anymore.

* * *

They always held hands during prefect patrols. Not that Scorpius minded. Whenever he'd slip his hands into the pockets of his robes, Rose's hand would fumble for his fingers. The only soul to ever catch them at it was Peeves, who swooped down on them blowing loud raspberries. But getting caught didn't really bother them much anymore. Their dating life would become public imminently, and although Rose bristled with nerves, Scorpius insisted that his parents' opinions wouldn't change a thing.

And in the months that followed, his parents' opinions really didn't change a thing. Nothing—not blood, not grief—would shake what Scorpius had found in Rose. He was seventeen; he was a child, but also an adult. He had never been with anyone but the girl beside him. The exhibitionistic, tactless, wild girl beside him, the girl who stood beside him no matter how finicky and challenging he proved to be.

He was in deeper than he would ever admit.

"Sign us out of the roster sheet, will you?" he said, gesturing to the prefect's office down the last hallway, as their patrol drew to a close. "I'll just check this last loop."

Efficient, perhaps, but Rose strained against this short separation, mostly for his amusement. "I'll miss you," she cajoled, allowing him to stretch her at arm's length until she finally let go of his hand.

He did the last lap of their floor at double-speed, wanting to get back to the common room quickly to finish off all his homework. As he strolled past the usual suits of armour and gossiping portraits, he heard footsteps ahead and paused, wondering, first, if perhaps it was a teacher. But whoever was walking paused too.

"I won't have a chance to see you the rest of this week," a student said. "I have so much homework I've neglected."

Male, older, with a familiar voice. Out of bed after curfew. He brushed his hand over his prefect badge and steeled himself.

"We can study together at the library, if you'd like?"

Isabella. Scorpius' eyes actually widened. It was Isabella who was sneaking out past curfew. The thought of confronting the duo seemed less appealing now.

"We'll just end up talking the whole time," he laughed. Warm and rich. James. It was Isabella and James. "I'll see you during the Hogsmeade weekend."

"Alright. I better go. Scorpius and Rose are patrolling tonight."

"Hang on, let me check the Map, I'll tell you which floor they're on."

Hearing this, Scorpius turned and walked—very briskly—back towards the prefect's office. By the time he reached the door, Rose was just clicking it shut behind her, leafing absentmindedly through a bunch of parchment notices, her brow scrunched.

"Signed us out. A few notices for the board, but nothing important. We have to post the date for Hogsmeade, too."

As if he had heard nothing and as if the rest of the patrol had gone off without a hitch, Scorpius slipped his hand back into hers and resumed their walk towards the Dungeons. "We should go together."

"We always go together."

"I mean, as a date. Make something special of it."

Rose looked at him then, her blue eyes as wide as marbles. Scorpius acted completely casual, his expression a controlled mask of indifference.

He wouldn't tell Rose about Isabella and James—it wasn't any of his business. Isabella had kept his secret so he would do the same courtesy. But the idea that _something_ was going on and they were doing very little to hide it was enough to make him want to come out with the truth.

"A proper date?" she queried, hastening after him.

"Sure. I'll snog you in the back booth of the Three Broomsticks to make it official."

"You sure know how to make a girl feel butterflies."

As they arrived at the common room, they let their hands fall to their sides before entering—mostly by habit. Then, Scorpius reached out and took her hand again. Rose glanced at their joint fingers skittishly before grinning, crossing with him to the noticeboard with pride. This exhibitionistic, tactless, wild girl hand in hand with him, swinging their arms together. She pinned the date for the Hogsmeade weekend to the Slytherin noticeboard. Hardly anyone even noticed anything out of the ordinary.

* * *

On the first Monday of March, owls descended upon the Slytherin table to drop off the usual post, and it was further down the table that they suddenly heard the wail of a particularly squeaky student. A few seconds later, Meredith Maxwell was upon both prefects, her face distraught, holding out a slip of burgundy parchment emblazoned with white text, stamped from the Hogsmeade post office.

Scorpius took the card in his thin fingers and held it up to read.

 _Miss Meredith Maxwell,_

 _Due to the precious nature of goblin metal and the recent theft and tampering of mail-order broomsticks, your new Nimbus 3000 has been safely delivered by hand to the Hogsmeade Post Office._

 _You must pick up your order in person. Please bring your wand as a form of identification._

"This isn't _fair_ ," Meredith wailed, scrunching up her fists. "I was supposed to get it in December and now I can't even pick it up!"

"Bloody hell," Scorpius muttered, getting a few looks from the sixth years around him. He turned the card over in his hand. There was no postscript on the back, no easy terms and conditions to get him out of this pickle. Rose leaned across the table, elbows knocking her plate forward.

"You should've ordered it in your name," she chided.

"I thought Meredith would be receiving the broomstick over the Christmas holidays," he replied, quite cross. "If I'd known it was a pick-up, I would've just had it delivered to me."

Rose clucked her tongue. She had never approved of the team captain buying their star player such an expensive broom, and of course, the events that had come to fruition had only proved her point. Meredith looked to be on the verge of tears, but Scorpius promised to sort it out.

He sent a letter to the post office that afternoon requesting that the order was made out in his name instead, so that he could pick up the post, but he received a response that evening at dinner insisting that by law—not that law _mattered_ anymore—the post office required in-person signatures and wand identification for any packages containing goblin metal. Frustrated, he took the matter to Professor Longbottom, hoping he could play his cards right.

"I'm not sure exactly what you want from me, Scorpius," Professor Longbottom said, lowering his newspaper. He was perched in the staffroom, Professor Tate making a tea behind him, but otherwise in a state of recreation and solitude. Scorpius lowered the Post Office's letters to his side.

"She won't have a chance to pick it up until the end of the year."

"We can't let second years go to Hogsmeade, no exceptions."

"It's _just_ to pick up a package," Scorpius insisted, surprised that he was being so firm on this. "Rose and I will accompany her to the post office if it helps, and bring her straight up to the school afterwards."

Professor Longbottom looked quite sad to have to refuse second time. He shook his head emphatically, as if he didn't want to have to do it again.

"What if we get her guardian's signatures? We can send home a permission slip before the next Hogsmeade weekend."

"There really isn't anything I can do, Scorpius. I'm sorry, the rules are rules."

He was about to concede and agree, despite his disappointment—bow his head and accept that he had made a blunder that the broomstick would sit for months in the back of the Post Office wrapped up in brown paper. He took a breath and went to step away when another voice, sing-song and sweet-talking, came from the doorway.

"Aren't you being a bit unreasonable there, Neville? If he manages to get permission and accompanies her down, I don't see why the rules can't be bent a little for Maxwell."

Both Scorpius and Professor Longbottom looked around. Professor Bellucci leaned against the door, wearing long emerald robes that clinched at her small waist, her dark, wide eyes darting between them both. Professor Tate cleared her throat and took a large gulp of her tea, turning back to rearrange the sugar.

"Professor Bellucci," Professor Longbottom said, sinking forward with his elbows resting on his knees. "I think you're only arguing on Maxwell's behalf because you have a stake in this. It would be nice to see Slytherin's best Chaser on a new broom for the finals."

Bellucci shrugged, the gesture impish and nonchalant. She progressed further into the room, her dragon-hide boots clicking on the stone. Scorpius watched her move, and as always, was a bit thunderstruck.

"We've won, Neville, whether or not we even played the next game, Slytherin's won. I stand nothing to gain by having Maxwell sweep the floor with Hufflepuff next May. I just want a marvellous young muggle-born girl, such as herself, to have all the very best this school can offer."

Perhaps it had been better if someone else had come to Scorpius' defence. Professor Longbottom's face itched with ire, and Scorpius remembered his earlier warning to avoid Professor Bellucci. For the first time, it occurred to Scorpius that his favourite Professor was _jealous_ of Stella. Jealous, perhaps, of her talents or her connections, or even of her likeability. He stood firm beside Stella, squaring off with Longbottom, waiting for his response—which would, now, undoubtedly, sound cruel and insincere.

He knew he had been defeated.

Stella went on, her voice rising and falling with each syllable. "Would you prefer they break the rules and sneak her down without permission? Which I imagine would be Rose Weasley's next line of pursuance after Scorpius fails?"

"Well—of course not—"

"If Meredith obtains all the necessary permissions and she has the prefects escort he to and fro, _and_ I accompany them to the Post Office, would you agree then?" Stella persisted.

Overwhelmed, Professor Longbottom huffed and leaned back. He extracted his wand and used it to summon up a roll of parchment, filled with a familiar script. A permission slip to Hogsmeade.

"She will only see the Post Office, then I want her back up in the school."

"Of course," Scorpius said, a little stunned.

As he turned to leave the staffroom, Bellucci winked at him in passing.

He realised what it truly meant to have influence.

* * *

Charlie Weasley had been given instructions by the Order and had carried them out as directed. He had spoken in length with Harry, he had conspired briefly with his eldest brother, but otherwise, his main goal—other than transporting one of their dragons back to its homeland—was to get his niece and her husband out of the country for as long as possible. Therefore, it was to his dismay that he found the newlyweds in Transylvania—windswept and forlorn—at the gates of the Dragon Sanctuary, with no one left to demand answers from other than him.

"Er, so it wasn't a relaxing honeymoon?"

Victoire was shaking with anger, a bag the size of her torso strapped to her back and her usually smooth blonde hair matted with grease.

"We were practically abandoned in Australia. Were you expecting us to like it so much we'd decide to settle down there?"

"It is a rather lovely climate."

He had no choice but to allow them entrance into the Sanctuary—it was, after all, a safe haven. Teddy followed in Victoire's footsteps, looking completely exhausted, his beard growing in thick and dark, his face flushed pink from the cold. They followed Charlie through the park's main thoroughfare and into the closest barn. All the while, Victoire pecked after her uncle like an indignant hen.

"Getting into Europe alone was a nightmare, a complete _nightmare_ , especially with those fake visas you gave us—but we have _no_ way back into England! What were you all _thinking_!"

They both needed showers—they smelt worst than a goat's carcass—and to be fed a proper meal. It was clear the more they talked that their isolation had not been peaceful and nondescript, as the Order had hoped. Instead, it sounded as if their entire episode overseas was a spontaneous attempt to uncover the truth. Charlie dumped his equipment on one of the large tables, gesturing towards Sylvia, then motioned for both Teddy and Victoire to follow him back to his cabin. There, they could talk with some privacy.

Teddy watched Victoire argue with her uncle, red in the face—part sunburn, part indignation—until he finally felt the need to step in.

"Harry deliberately wanted us out of the country after the new year," he said calmly, staring directly at Charlie Weasley.

The look on Charlie's face confirmed it, but Teddy guessed that even Charlie was not entirely sure why. He threw his keys into a ceramic bowl in the centre of his kitchen table, with a jingle that silenced the hot-headed couple. Answers were needed if refuge was to be given. Charlie leaned against his kitchen bench. The cabin was already too full—too full of bodies, too full of emotion. He ran his hands through his long, red hair.

"Something…big is about to happen. An attack on the Ministry. But not _just_ the Ministry. The Kobold Könige released a hit list and Harry's on it."

The Order were preparing for the Ministry to fall, for Gladstone's assassination. In fact, the Order had to convince Harry not to go after the Minister himself. The whole point of the Order lying low was to let the goblins finish off the Ministry, and then sweep in to clean up the mess. After her brash tirade, Victoire was puzzled for the first time since their arrival.

"The Kobold Könige want their King and the Minister dead. I don't understand why they'd go after anyone else."

And then, like puzzle pieces falling into place, Teddy understood. Welgruk's words, his prophetic promises of anarchism. To seek out fights you don't have to. They wanted to dismantle a system, not just those leading it. The goblin gangs knew that the moment the leaders were dead, the populous would try to find new leaders. They would try to keep the system going.

"We _need_ to get back into England," Victoire said, her voice warbling.

To seek out fights you don't have to. To strike preemptively. To strike.

"Who else was on that hitlist?" Teddy asked.

* * *

Despite what Stella had suggested, Rose wouldn't have tried to sneak Meredith down to the village. Not that such truancy was beyond her, but because Rose felt the entire broom debacle was unwarranted. And to a degree, she was motivated by bitterness. Meredith was putting a damper on what would otherwise have been her first proper, public outing with her boyfriend.

She was acting rather sullen for their Hogsmeade weekend, tweaking her hair in the reflection of the mirror. Isabella stood besides her, rubbing her cherry red lips together. Alice slid by them on the other side, still in pyjamas, looking uninterested in leaving the dorm. The entire mood was in utter contrast to the February Hogsmeade trip. It was around ten-thirty, but none of them had left the dorm yet.

Isabella parted ahead of the others, heading down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Zabini was standing by the Slytherin table, a handkerchief spread out that he was haphazardly piling up with food. Isabella stopped, amused.

Unable to help herself, she leaned against the table opposite him.

"Don't trust the food at the Three Broomsticks?" she asked.

"Nah," Zabini shrugged, adding some bagels to the pile. "I'm staying at the school."

This surprised her. She leaned against the table with flat palms. "Don't tell me you didn't finish Professor Tate's homework."

"I finished it," he chuckled. "I just have plans."

She quirked her eyebrows, but any chance to respond was interrupted by Scorpius and Rose arriving, with Meredith at their side, her cheeks as flushed as peaches. She was wearing a pink, zip-up hoodie and a muggle pair of jeans, looking older without her school robes swamping her, holding a permission slip in her hand. Since their last Quidditch game, Slytherins had fallen into the habit of saluting her or bowing their heads or stooping to express their reverence—a habit introduced by the seventh year seniors, who spoke of Meredith somewhat like a saint. Older students carried her bag to class or offered to do her homework. Meredith had taken to the attention exceedingly well.

Both Isabella and Zabini responded accordingly, almost instinctively, Zabini giving a wink and Isabella an odd little courtesy. There was absolutely no irony in it. Meredith Maxwell had won them the House Cup, and all the seventh years were now wanting to groom her for Head Girl. Rose rolled her eyes at the display, muttering under her breath that she had once snapped a broomstick with a Bludger.

"Heading down to Hogsmeade?"

"Meredith's picking up her broomstick," Scorpius responded wirily.

At these words, the second year let out a little squeak. No one mocked her. It was clearly a ceremonious occasion. Rose was quick to change the subject.

"Are you going to leave any for the rest of us?" she gestured towards Zabini's hoard.

"Please, you have an entire table to choose from."

"Oh! I'm too excited to eat," Meredith squealed. She tugged on Scorpius' robes. "Let's _go_."

"Merlin, calm down Maxwell," Scorpius sighed. "Please, take some morning tea at least."

They bickered over the food and headed some way down the table, Meredith wedged between them, Isabella and Zabini watching on.

"They look like a married couple squabbling over their spoilt, single child."

Isabella looked sharply at Zabini, trying to read what was beneath his smirk. His amber eyes flashed at her.

"What do you know?"

"I don't know anything," he said, raising both his eyebrows. "I was making a joke."

Isabella shrugged, picking up an apple from the pile on his handkerchief. Her teeth sunk into its crisp, red skin. Zabini cocked his head to one side.

"What do _you_ know?"

"I don't know anything more than you know."

"Huh," he said, wrapping up his food. Isabella grinned and took another bite of her apple. "Why not come down to Hogsmeade?" she asked, referring back to his assortment of food and his impulse to stay up at the school.

"Honestly," he said, raising his eyebrows. "It's easier to hook up with Abercrombie when everyone's out of the school."

Rose, Scorpius and Meredith passed by them again, still squabbling, but having finished with their late breakfast. They headed for the door, the youngest member of the trio pulling a permission slip and letter from the front pocket of her pink hoodie.

Isabella's smile had slid from her face, leaving it slack-jawed and a little confused. "You're still going out with Abercrombie?"

"Yeah, well, keeping a good thing going as long as it lasts."

Zabini, too, was now heading towards the door. Isabella followed, her apple in hand, her head a little dizzy. But somehow, finding nerve.

"Where're you planning to meet?" she asked, a little too hotly. Zabini glanced back at her, now almost at the large marble staircase. He seemed dubious. Students were lining up in the hall, waiting for friends or else heading down to catch a carriage into Hogsmeade. Isabella stepped closer to him and lowered her voice, her eyelids heavy and her voice pinched and pompous. "I'm just saying, I know some pretty secluded rendezvous spots if you want tips."

" _You_ know good rendezvous spots?"

The words bit back at her, sarcastic and jeering, making her face boil red. She was supposed to be heading down to Hogsmeade soon to meet James, where they would share lunch and talk and probably shop afterwards. Where things would be easy and light. Yet she found herself rooted to the spot, brimming with a hard need to get back at Zabini— as _always_.

"Well, whenever we've wanted to have a bit of a nookie James is smart enough to avoid the public lavatories."

Something flashed across Zabini's face, a sort of disbelief that trotted after interest, and then he was suddenly as smooth as velvet, nodding up towards the marble steps with a charm that unarmed her.

"Show me your spots, then. If you're offering."

* * *

It was still early—not even eleven—but James kept looking over his shoulder at the door. He was going to end up with a crick in his neck, but he twitched as if someone was pulling an invisible string. The Three Broomsticks was quiet still; only a few students had dropped in for morning tea, while others shopped and others still delayed their departure for lunch. It was nice to have the place for himself.

"A cup of Rosie, Luv?"

He turned back to the counter, drumming it with his thumbs. Claretta smiled tentatively, her sparkling eyes observing him with some trepidation. He nodded, for she was right. It was far too early for alcohol, or even for a butterbeer. Claretta grinned and disappeared to make him a tea, and in her absence, Rosmerta sauntered over. Her arms hung with bangles that jingled as she moved.

"You seem brighter than usual, James."

"You seem just as dazzling as ever," he grinned, leaning forward on her elbows. She scoffed and rolled her eyes, but she loved the flattery. James knew. He reminded her of another set of boys with his namesake. "Business is better, I hope? People have more reasons to drink than ever."

She laughed, a little too hard for it to be genuine. "It has been better. In the New Year, we received a notice that said if we don't start serving goblins, they'll shut us down."

"That's a shame," James frowned.

"Well," she leaned in conspiratorially, as if talking behind a hand, "they have brought in a bit of business, so I can't complain. They keep booking out the rooms upstairs, which I don't like, but—" she leaned back again, speaking at a normal volume and throwing her hands up "—what can you do?"

As if to prove her point, a couple of goblins entered and moved over to the booths in the back. James tensed as he watched them, their back to him, but Rosmerta soon left to take their order. They were taking out a pack of cards, shuffling through the deck as they rattled off the drinks they wanted. James was leaning back to check the door again when Claretta arrived with his tea.

"Waitin' fer someone?"

"She isn't supposed to arrive for another hour, but I was hoping she'd be early."

Claretta raised her eyebrows. "A date?"

"Er," he could feel his face heat up and wasn't exactly sure why. They had agreed that it wasn't a date, they were just hanging out, which he preferred by far, even if it _was_ a date.

"I'm happy fer yeh," she grinned, teasing his cheek so he squirmed back, smirking. "Yer blushing."

"I'm not," he said, squatting away her hand.

"Innit strange how whenever the world seems ter fall ter pieces, yer life sorts itself out?"

She seemed just as rosy as him, and James had to guess this meant one thing. "You're debt free?"

"Paid it all off," she grinned, smiling cheek to cheek. "Free as a bird."

He beamed back and took a big gulp of his tea, which she had added sugar to without him needing to ask. Suddenly, James throbbed with a weightlessness that dissolved like a sugar cube, sweetening his mood. They were both free. He felt unclouded and peaceful, as if he had been wrung out like a towel, all the resentment, fear and desperation squeezed out of him. Soon, Isabella would be here, and Claretta would rattle off the lunch specials and they would talk some more in that freeing, delivering way she talked to him, and they would be at peace while the world continued to fall to pieces. He turned back to look at the door.

With a slight shock, he recognised the goblin in the back booth from his reflection in the glass.

* * *

An alarm went off in the Ministry, an automatic alarm that went off far, far too late to be of any use. The spell had been triggered when the Minister's office was broken into, sounding the shrill siren that echoed through every floor of the Ministry of Magic. However, by that point, half a dozen people were dead on several floors, the few non-goblin security members that had remained in Gladstone's parliament had been murdered and the goblin militia were searching for the Minister.

This is when the Order of the Phoenix arrived, when the alarmed sounded, and it was already far too late to pre-emptively stop anything from happening. Harry came to a halt, staring at the list of names that hovered in the air above the fountain, a hit list left behind in sizzling red strokes. Several witches and wizards had been killed on their way to the fireplaces, presumably caught in the initial incursion. Most had been hit with Killing Curses, but one had been decapitated, his body left in the fountain so the water teemed with blood, his head mounted on the statue, and—the tell-tale sign—reanimated. The man's mouth moved mechanically, his eyes still open, and he spoke—and endless loop of names. Name upon name upon name and the siren wailed behind him, as if every sound was screaming for them to turn around and run.

"Change of plans. I want groups B, C, and D to get to Diagon Alley," Harry said, as his name was once again announced by the beheaded man.

Their numbers were staggering—they easily made up a small army. They could rival the goblin militia now.

Bill spoke up, gruff but unwilling to accept the command without discussion. He was, after all, leading Group B. "You think this is a two pronged attack?"

"I'm sure of it now," Harry said, staring at the list of names. "The list was their X to mark the spot. They'll try to take Gringotts and the rest of Diagon Alley. Do whatever it takes to stop them."

The squadrons hesitated, but no one was willing to question Harry. They turned and left, leaving only a quarter of their number behind. Group A.

Ron gripped Harry's shoulder. "The place looks almost empty. That alarm means Gladstone is either dead in his office, or he's not in there and they're still searching."

" _Curtius Gladstone, Kingsley Shacklebolt_ , _Grolhok the Goblin King, Morgana the Unlikely, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger_ …"

"If he was dead, they would be parading his head around by now," Ginny said grimly.

"God, that's awful," Hermione seethed, pointing her wand at the man's head, and with a complicated counter-curse, he fell silent, his lips mouthing the names in mute. "What do we do?"

One of the goblins spoke up, his face very grim. Gridhop, who was once a member of the militia and a staunch supporter of the monarchy. Whatever his reason for joining the Order, he was determined to see the Anarchists fall. "They have not found your Minister yet, but they will. When they kill him, we shall know, then it is our turn to kill the Kobold Könige."

That had been the plan from the beginning; a plan that the goblins and Cresswell had insisted was the right way. If the Order killed Gladstone, it would be seen as more humans turning on humans, squabbling for control, proving yet again their inefficiency and depravity. It would look like a power struggle. It would just give the Kobold Könige more fuel to convince the public that all leaders must be eliminated.

Let them kill Gladstone, then when they went after the Kobold Könige it would be seen as a restoration of order. Harry would have his reputation completely restored. That was the Order's mission.

Order. The word did not seem real amid this chaos.

"What if everyone isn't out yet?" Hermione said, staring nervously at the elevators across the atrium. "People might still be in their offices."

"Right, we evacuate the building then head to Gringotts. Let's split into pairs. Go from floor to floor, avoid being seen if you can."

They had planned to be split into pairs—they had practiced fighting with their partners. Partnered by skill and familiarity and fighting style. They could guess the other's thoughts before they had time to think them.

Ron nodded grimly and squared off beside Harry. Suddenly, this felt like old times. Absurdly, he remembered being a first year, sneaking out of bed with Ron to duel Draco Malfoy in the middle of the night—Ron had volunteered to be his Second. As quickly as the silly memory had resurfaced, Harry brushed it away. They entered the elevator, punching every button so they all lit up, floor by floor, delivering them in duos, prepared for stealth. It was likely that Selgrut would be in Diagon Ally, leading his troops, but Romnuk may still be in the Ministry and they had to see to both goblins' imprisonment.

Ron was a steady presence beside Harry as they took the ninth floor, confident and solid as the grills opened. This was being treated as an evacuation, and all was on track, and he had no idea that Harry was planning to leave his side at the first available chance.

Whether it meant having to get to him over Romnuk the Rough's dead body, he didn't care. Harry would be the one to find Gladstone.

* * *

"Oh, this is _amazing_ ," Meredith cooed, her eyes the size of saucers, glued to the window of Honeydukes. Rose gritted her teeth, holding the younger Slytherin's hand in the way most dog walkers hold a leash. There was nothing particularly remarkable about Hogsmeade to a sixth year. Much of the wonder had rubbed off over the many weekend visits. But to Meredith, every shop was worth stopping at and fussing over.

Professor Bellucci, who was chaperoning them to the post office, was deeply amused by Meredith's excitement during the carriage ride down, but had quickly grown bored of the muggle-born girl with the insatiable curiosity and had turned her complete attention to Scorpius instead. She spent the walk into the village fixated on her star student, discussing the various ways to pickle powdered moonstone as if it was the most interesting topic in the world. Perhaps, for them, it was.

"Oh, it's _marvellous_ to think that someone as young as you is so _passionate_ about potions," she marvelled, taking Scorpius arm in her dainty hands.

He blushed, ducking his head and grinning pointedly at their feet, the way he always did when he accepted praise. Rose unstuck Meredith's face from the shop window and started frogmarching her towards the post office.

"Honestly, I would adore having you along for one of the international Pioneers in Potions Conferences that are held each year. You would get along there like a cauldron on a fire. I must have you along, dear."

"Th-that would be a dream."

"What did you say you wanted to do once you were finished school?" Bellucci asked, batting her bambi eyes, but before Scorpius could stutter out a response, she was answering for him. "I can see you heading up the committee one day. My, you do have the talent for it, and if you received the Alchemy Grant, the world would be your oyster. Of course, I imagine you want to pursue professional Quidditch?"

"Sorry?"

"With your talents, I just assumed, my dear, that Quidditch was what you had in mind? Quite respectable, really, no one says you can't do both! I played a spot of Quidditch in my younger years. I was thinking, for the match against Hufflepuff in May perhaps, to bring in a few scouts along to see Slytherin play. I'm very good friends with the Appleby Arrows."

Scorpius did not correct her to tell her that he wanted to be a Herbologist. In fact, he didn't say anything at all. He stammered a few times and twisted his hands together. Rose had never seen him tongue-tied like this.

"It would be good for Meredith, too, wouldn't it?" Bellucci added, redirecting their attention to the second-year in their number. Meredith beamed, but she hardly even seemed to notice the compliment, she was so busy beaming at everything in the general vicinity.

"Here we are," Rose cried, almost shoving their ensemble through the doors of the post office. Owls were standing in rows, hooting and shuffling on their perches. The lady behind the counter looked up, squinting at the four of them uncertainly.

"We're here for a pick up," Scorpius said, retrieving his receipt and motioning for Meredith to take out her wand.

Considering the amount of trouble it took to organise the affair, retrieving the broomstick took very little effort. Once the wand had been checked and Meredith had signed, the long package was handed over the desk.

She squealed so loudly that Rose plugged her ears, and several owls screeched in protest.

They left again, Bellucci glancing down the street.

"I have to pop into the publishing house to autograph a compilation I assisted with—"

Rose's eyebrows almost disappeared into her hairline when she heard this.

"—but I trust you three are heading straight up to the school?"

"Of course," Scorpius agreed. Meredith was trying to unwrap her broom, and Rose was hastily trying to rewrap it at the same time, compelling her to wait.

"Well, in that case, I'll let you both accompany our little Chaser of the Century back to her dorm. Too doo loo."

In the beat of silence that followed, Rose had to stop herself from snorting. Had their Head of House _really_ just said too doo loo?

"No _wonder_ she wanted Meredith on a new broom for the Hufflepuff match," Rose said, seething a little under her false tone. "She's bringing scouts!"

"That would be really cool, wouldn't it?" Meredith chirped, twirling her broom like an unwieldy baton.

Scorpius didn't reply. He was still a little pink in the face from all the attention he had received. It took a great deal of effort to drop the topic. Everything about Bellucci rubbed Rose the wrong way, but now was not the time to pick a fight with Scorpius. They had sorted out the broom fiasco, they were supposed to be going on their first proper date after this—there was no need to kill the mood.

Meredith came to a halt in the middle of the street, turning to face them both. She radiated joy, her cheeks as pink as her hoodie.

"Thank you both. Really, _really_ , thank you. All of this is better than anything I could have ever dreamed up."

They both came to a halt, facing her. Any animosity Rose had felt suddenly dissolved. She tried to remember what it had felt like to visit Hogsmeade for the first time. She and Albus had tentatively tried out every single shop, certain that even the teashop would be interesting. Being young and feeling everything for the first time held its privileges. First times felt so much richer and deeper. First kisses, first fights, first loves.

Meredith would have her first trip to Hogsmeade, and then she would fly for the first time on her new broom. Then, once she was safely tucked away in the Slytherin Dungeons, Scorpius and Rose would return to the village for their first, proper, public date.

"Come on," Rose said, nodding to the Three Broomsticks. "Let's go in and have one butterbeer."

Meredith hesitated, and Scorpius glanced at Rose, surprised by her sentimentality.

"Are you sure?" Meredith asked.

"Everyone gets a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks during their first visit to Hogsmeade."

* * *

Isabella was conscious that time was ticking down, that soon she would need to leave—half an hour, at most, if she were to get there on time—in order to meet James for their lunch plans. Every step she took towards the Room of Requirement, she felt as pang of concern, like a clock had become lodged in her chest, tolling away each minute that she strayed away from her Hogsmeade visit, away from James.

But she still had time to kill; she still had a point to prove.

The Room of Requirement did not look like the cosy space she shared with James. Instead, it was cool and spacious, a chamber that could easily have been found in the East Wing of her home. A double bed with a canopy, a fireplace, a rug, a lounge. Zabini was quite stunned by it all. She hadn't told him the trick of how to make the door appear, and she had no intention to. This was not about giving him and Imogen a new rendezvous spot, a place for them to have their dates. This was about squaring off—getting even.

"Better than a public lavatory," she said, taking a seat on the bed. She felt smoother, older, and less girlish now. He noticed the way she played her new role, the performance in it. If he wanted to spite her, he could have applauded, but he didn't want to spite her. He laid the handkerchief of food on the coffee table and watched her.

"So, this is where you come with Potter."

"Who said I come here with Potter?"

"I'm not thick, Belle. Maybe with books and lessons, but not with this. Are you seeing him?"

It was a question they hadn't even answered. They enjoyed each other, they enjoyed studying together and talking and occasionally snogging. But he still talked of Claretta and she still of Zabini, and people in love don't talk about the other people their hopes are hung up on. They weren't anything, she decided.

"We're non-exclusive," she shrugged, aiming for indifference. As she raised and dropped a shoulder, the sleeve of her dress slid down to reveal her olive skin. His eyes found her bare collarbone and stayed there as he approached her, hungry and preening. In that moment, she knew she had won whatever she wanted to win. For once, he was looking at her the way she looked at him.

She wondered if he had looked at Imogen this way. Or Rose. Or any of the other girls he had been with. Had they also fallen beneath his penumbra, the murky allure that he carried? Had they felt just as helpless, or did they simply not care?

Isabella felt helpless as he leaned in to kiss her. It was something she had wanted for years. His lips were on hers. But all she could concentrate on was the hands running over her stockings, his hips aligning with her own as he parted her thighs around his legs. And she knew, with a surge of panic, that she could not play this part. She was not smooth or slinky or careless. This would happen, and he would not care a bit about the aftermath, and she would spend the rest of her days picking up pieces.

There was nothing to be won.

"Wait," she said, pushing him back, even as he pushed her further into the bed—why a bed, _why_ had she imagined a bed? James never once imagined a bed in this room—"What about Abercrombie? You have a girlfriend."

"We're non-exclusive, too," he shrugged, leaning in to kiss her again, and his kisses would consume her if he didn't stop.

"You're supposed to meet with her," she said, breathless and panicky.

"Not until twelve. We have time." He said this as he rolled up her dress. She could feel a ladder tear in her stockings.

And suddenly she was sure this was a test—how very like him, to test her. To win by humiliating her. He was waiting to see whether she would back down. She had challenged him by bringing him up here, and he was rising to the challenge. And if she didn't back down, he would still win the game. She would quietly succumb; he would shag her and leave her like all the other girls he had ever been with, just another notch on his belt. Zabini always won, because he cared the least.

"I can't," she said, pressing her palms flat against his chest.

"Trust me, I'll be a better shag than Potter."

"I haven't shagged Potter. I haven't shagged anyone. I can't—I don't want to—"

Zabini sat upright, still straddling her, so that she was still pinned down. He was mad. His face had darkened like a cloud moving over the sun. The transformation from desire to anger was so instantaneous that Isabella wondered if it was there all along, waiting, like a mask to be removed. Zabini was the true performer.

"You don't want to," he repeated, crisp and clear. " _You_ don't want to. Let that sink in, alright? It's not me, this time. I'm not the one rejecting you. _You_ don't want to."

"Alright," she breathed, feeling teary, silly, girlish.

"I mean it!" he barked, his knees pressing into her hips. "I'm not the guy you want, Nott! I'm not going to sit here and hold your hand and take your virginity, I'm not going to be your project to fix, I'm not going to be your boyfriend! So, unless you want a quick shag—which would be just as efficient in a public lavatory— _stop chasing me_."

He got off of her, collecting his belongings. Isabella remained very still, on the bed, her dress still hiked up over her stomach.

"I know Malfoy's with Weasley," he said, checking his watch. Truly indifferent, no pretence. "I know you know. And I am bloody well sure that you've lost the one boy you thought was your security net."

Isabella swallowed hard, tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes.

"Malfoy won't marry you out of some complacent arrangement. I won't shag you out of pity. Potter won't wait around for some bird that's been stringing him along like a fish on a hook. Face it, Nott. You use boys just like I use girls. We just have different reasons."

He shrugged at this, giving her one final glance. Then he left.

Even if she left now, she would be ten minutes late to her date with James.

* * *

Kingsley Shacklebolt was leading the Group C—one of the most experienced combatants leading the youngest, keenest and greenest members of the Order. He reconverged with Bill and Fleur, having just Apparated into the Leaky Cauldron, the other members of their team also appearing.

"The last terrorist attack in Diagon Alley was centred around Knockturn Alley and Gringotts. They know the tunnel systems better than we do, so our best chance is cutting them off," Shacklebolt said, his voice grounding the words into orders.

"We'll looze Gringotts," Fleur countered.

But there really didn't seem like there was an option there.

"Take Group D to Knockturn Alley and block off the entrance to the street."

Fleur nodded. She whistled, her fingers tucked into her mouth, and her squad all turned towards her. She motioned for the door.

"I'll have my group build a barricade on the main street, but I'll need group B for ground troops," Kingsley said.

"Done," Bill agreed.

Molly Weasley was the first to follow Kingsley out into the street, thunderstruck in the weight of his sagacity and brilliance, trying to match his stride. Fred, Rowan, Dominique and the others careered after them. Diagon Alley was quieter than usual, but the typical business owners were in their stores, preparing for what they suspected would be another slow day. The glittering red letters were still burned over the Gringott's doors:

ALL LEADERS MUST STEP DOWN

OR THE KOBOLD KÖNIGE WILL STRIKE

There was no evidence of the Kobold Könige in the streets, but Kingsley was already at work. With a sweep of his wand, the cobblestone street seemed to rear up and fold into itself, forming a wall that stretched from one side of the street to the other, spanning the width of the bank. As the stone cracked and the earth settled around its new structure, several security wizards rushed down the large marble steps, flailing their arms to signal that he should stop.

Kingsley was as calm and steady as ever.

"There is about to be a bloodbath on this street, so I suggest you get behind our side of the wall."

The two guards looked at each other, raising their brows as if exchanging a signal, but before they could extract their wands, a spell came whizzing from above and struck the stone where Kingsley stood just a moment before.

Goblins were descending down the marble stairs, and they had the advantage of the terrain, sending curses down into the pit where the barricade was being built. The two security wizards dived over the wall into safety. Kingsley moved his wand across its base, tearing a trench into the earth that he gestured for the others to get into.

"Take cover," he yelled to the youngest soldiers, "and keep building up this barricade however you can."

Kingsley was moving over the barricade, and Group B was following as Bill led the charge against the goblins. There was no time to watch as the fray scattered their troops—they needed to secure the rest of the street.

People were pouring out of the shops now, both goblins and wizards that had been caught on the Order's side of the barricade, many screaming or yelling out as the militia descended. They were taking in the scene for the first time. With little time, and a barricade needing to be built, Molly aimed her wand at the nearest store and Summoned the wooden panels off the wall. They ricocheted towards her, almost knocking her over, but she used her wand to pile them on top of the stone base.

"Good idea!" Fred yelled, and without a moment's hesitation, he was sprinting into a nearby furniture store. Just as Kingsley was entering a duel with the closest goblins, a whole fleet of desks, armchairs, tables and wardrobes came bursting through the glass windows of the shop, sailing like enormous ships through the air and then crashing unceremoniously onto the barricade.

Somehow, in the course of ten minutes, they had piled up a streets' worth of merchandise and conjured up blocks of stone and wood to create a wall that stood some ten metres tall, matching the height of the tallest buildings on the street. The goblins and shop owners caught on their side were all helping, using their wands to grow the pile, or otherwise manually hauling out barrels and furniture into the street. As the barricade grew in height, Dominique and Rowan worked to stick the wreckage together with a permanent Sticking Charm.

"They're still on the other side," Rowan panted, leaning against the wall. They had lost sight of the battlefield and had no idea which side was winning. "How are they supposed to get back over?"

Molly grit her teeth, feeling grim. "Start casting an Anti-Apparition Charm," she yelled at Fred, who nodded firmly. Their only job was to secure the street, and they had to make sure they had done it well. Still, her mind churned with ways to help the others. Perhaps if they went back up the street to Broomstix they could fly over the wall—it would certainly be an advantage to aim from above. Yet, there was no way to transport their wounded on broomstick back over the wall without being struck themselves. Just as Molly was weighing up whether it would be worth a shot, Rowan grabbed her arm and pointed up the street.

A troupe of elves was sprinting towards them, small and light on their feet, looking at first like a group of children. They were wandless, but their faces were fierce and set. Molly realised that this was the Elf Division of the Order that her Aunt Hermione had been heading up for months.

"What can we do to help?" the elf in charge squeaked, looking furious. "We will do whatever we can do to help!"

"On the other side of the wall," Dominique explained, "And we don't know whether the fight's stil—"

But anything else she could have said was lost. With cracks and pops that hit the air like gunshots, the elves vanished one by one, defying their Anti-Apparition Charm.

They could hear the sizzle of spells flying behind their teetering tower of rubble. Everyone held their breath, as several spells crashed against the wall.

Still, it did not fall. Still, Diagon Alley remained empty.

Still, they held their breath.

* * *

"May we please have a butterbeer for the smallest member of our company?" Scorpius asked, leaning against the counter.

James turned around, instinctively delighted by the company and then on edge as he settled into his former foreboding. Rose looped a lazy arm around Meredith Maxwell, who was beaming with a smile that could have stretched for miles, a package unmistakably shaped like a broom in her hand.

"We're going to head up to the school in a bit," Rose said, sliding onto a stool, "but we'll join you for a few minutes."

James didn't imagine a few minutes were a likely timeframe, but he hoped Rose would stick to her word.

"Waiting for anyone?" Scorpius added, glancing at James flippantly.

He hesitated. The question sounded loaded. The Marauders Map _had_ shown both Scorpius and Rose on the same floor as he and Isabella when they last met up together. But Scorpius' eyes did not linger, nor was his tone suggestive. Feeling too distracted to think into it, James merely shook his head.

"I suppose you won't mind our company then?"

Other students had entered by now, too—James had noticed every single one who walked through the door. A couple of fifth year Hufflepuff girls holding shopping bags; a few fourth years sitting around a table for four. The clock was crawling towards lunchtime, and more and more people were arriving. He wondered whether he could say something to Claretta or Rosmerta, perhaps trigger an alarm.

If Scorpius and Rose _were_ heading back up to the school, he could ask them to warn Isabella not to come down…but that just seemed stupid, paranoid. If Isabella were here, she would remind him to remain present and calm.

They weren't in any danger.

Maxwell was sipping tentatively on a butterbeer, her face very pink. Rose was yelling now, waving an arm towards the door as it opened again. James looked around, twitched almost instinctively.

"Al, over here!"

It wasn't _just_ his brother, either. Lily and Hugo followed in his wake, shopping bags on their arms. The alarm he was feeling suddenly doubled, making it hard to sit still. All of them here at once, it wasn't a good idea. He drummed his hand into his thigh, trying to keep his head clear. Everyone was immune to his breakdown.

"Isn't Maxwell supposed to be back up at the school?" Albus teased.

"We thought we'd give her a little treat before we head up," Scorpius chuckled.

"Very generous."

"You're not hanging about with Abercrombie?"

"She's got a date with Zabini, whatever that's supposed to mean. I just came to buy new quills." He pulled one out of his pocket, rolling it in his fingers. "Charmed to retain ink for up to a week without needing to dip it."

"So, basically, it's a muggle pen," Hugo mused.

James was hardly listening to the conversation.

"Lils, you should head back up to Hogwarts," he said, his voice shaky.

She was already placing her drink order, and had every intention on staying, rolling her eyes at her older brother to make that apparent. She motioned to the table of fourth years. "We planned to meet here with Anisha Bajwa for lunch. Hugo wants to discuss Gobstone tactics."

"Don't say that like it's a bad thing," her cousin chided.

"Right. I think it's best we get everyone out of here," James said. He couldn't sit any longer. His stool screeched back suddenly, abruptly ending the warm conversations around him, popping them like bubbles. Rose turned to him, wide-eyed.

"What's up?" Hugo frowned.

"We need to go."

"I just got my drink," Lily complained.

"Calm down, mate," Albus said in a low voice, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Everything's—"

"Romnuk," Rose whispered, her blue eyes so wide they seemed to pop. "That's—that's Romnuk gambling over in that booth, isn't it? He has a mallet."

Everyone's heads swivelled, and then quickly swivelled back to the other direction, feigning that nothing had been seen. James wanted to explain that the Three Broomsticks had lifted their goblin ban. That there were goblins in the booth, goblins probably upstairs. His teeth were chattering too hard to get the words out, and although the others were alarmed by the presence of the gangleaders, no one seemed to be as willing to leave as he was. In fact, it just became their new topic of conversation.

"Is _that_ the serial killer?" Meredith whispered, looking quite amazed.

"He's not a serial—well, he is. But there was never a serial killer, Meredith."

"Rose, that's hardly helpful."

"So, he _is_ a serial killer?"

"Keep your voice down."

James grabbed both Lily and Albus, determined to get out of the pub as quickly as possible. Lily wrenched her arm free, looking at her brother as if he was mad.

"Could you calm down, please? None of us are in any danger—"

It was as Lily hissed this like an angry goose, it was as James' panic surged to a blinding height, it was as the doors of the Three Broomsticks sealed themselves shut that the show tune playing on the Wireless abruptly ended and another voice came on—smooth, low and levelled. The Wireless popped and Rosmerta turned towards it, surprised.

 _"_ _The Kobold Könige believes we are liberating the world by destroying the borders to all nations, by eradicating the world's magical leaders. We will be left with a world completely unified. All we want is for the following wizards and witches to turn themselves over."_

A list of names were read. It was the list of names posted in the Ministry of Magic and on the walls of Gringotts. It was a list that included, among many other officials' names, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. It was the first time any of them were hearing it. Young and old alike had stopped to listen, all of their heads swivelling towards the Wireless. And then, as abruptly as it had begun, the radio switched back to its show tune, a catchy vaudeville song about cauldrons.

James heard a low chuckle from the back of the room. His skin crawled; it could have crawled right off his skeleton. Romnuk through down his deck of cards. One of the other goblins smirked, his teeth sharpened to a point.

"Looks like its time to get to work, boss."

* * *

Level Nine was utterly deserted. The black door at the very end was locked. They were supposed to be searching for Selgrut or Romnuk, or for anyone who hadn't made it out of the building when the evacuation began, but Harry was single-mindedly searching for Gladstone.

"Do you think it's worth looking down here?" Ron asked quietly, wand held in a firm grip. He and Harry were scouting the hallway back-to-back, Ron's eyes still on the elevator they had just exited. One pair of the Order was getting off on each floor, and Harry had wanted this floor. His gut instinct was that Gladstone was not in his Office, and he was not in the Department of Mysteries—it was the last place he would want to be; Gladstone did not want reminders of the dirty work beneath the façade of his policies. But Level Nine was as secure as a bunker, and Harry had a hunch.

"You take the Department of Mysteries, I'll check the Courtrooms," Harry said, hardly even answering Ron's question. He hadn't heard it. If his hunch was right…

"In case there are any Unspeakables, I suppose. I wonder if they even hear the alarm down here."

Still, Ron gulped as he faced the prospect of entering the Department of Mysteries alone. As they reached the end of the corridor, they broke apart. Ron tapped the amulet around Harry's neck. "If you need me, call me. I'll leave mine open."

Harry veered left. Perhaps he should have felt anxious to leave Ron's side, or maybe his mind should have been for the Order members upstairs, or in Diagon Alley, or the bodies scattered through the Atrium and their families or colleagues who probably had not heard the news that they were dead. Maybe his concerns should have been elsewhere, but his mind was completely clouded by a fury that burned through every other emotion or care. He stalked silently down to Level Ten, the courthouses, where everything felt a million miles beneath the earth.

He was right. As he pushed aside the thick doors of the courtroom, Harry immediately sensed a presence in the room, a flicker of fear that was not connected to sound or sight. Gladstone would choose the Courtrooms over the Department of Mysteries because he resonated with its sense of justice, he felt safe surrounded by the high, tiered seats and the dimly lit torches. Which was ironic, he thought, as he swept through the first few pews. Because he was hiding in this room, this room that once felt so safe to him, down in the bottom of the pit, behind the chair, where the convicted ought to sit.

That's where he was.

The moment he saw Harry, Gladstone crept out from behind his chair. His balding head was covered in sweat, and his skin was so grey it enunciated his elephant-like visage. He looked sick to his stomach, cowering like a criminal.

"Harry," he rasped, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Oh thank goodness, Harry. I need your help."

Harry came to a rest at the top of the benches, his hands gripping the backrest in the row in front. A furious calm came over him.

"My help?"

"You're just the man for it. Yes, yes—just the man for it. They've invaded the Ministry. We need a counterattack—we need to…all the emergency exists are—"

Even down here, deep underground, the wail of the alarm could still be heard. Harry quietly walked down to the next bench, his shoes echoing around the courtroom. Gladstone's face quivered in its final desperation.

"Where are all your guards?" Harry asked calmly, going along with the Minister's outlandish request. "All the people you replaced the Aurors with?"

"You—you know very well those are the people attempting this Coup."

"I would hardly even call it a Coup," Harry reasoned, coming to a halt. "They've already taken the Ministry, haven't they?"

For a split second, they squared off, but before Gladstone had even fired his curse, Harry had fired a full Body-Bind. He flicked his wand the other way, unzipping his lips with an audible fizz. The satisfaction of seeing the fear in the Minister's eyes seemed to wipe any morsel of anxiety or urgency left in Harry. Nothing mattered beyond this room, beyond this final questioning.

"It's going to be me who kills you, not them," he said, climbing down another tier—this time stepping over the back of the benches down onto the next platform. Gladstone's mouth quivered. He raised his wand in his hand, for a split second wondering whether it was better to let him die slowly, to suffer, to crush the air out of him.

"It—its cowardice to kill a man without letting him fight back," Gladstone whispered, still desperate to weasel his way out of this. To reason, to use rhetoric, his main weapon. "That's the first thing you learn as an Auror. To never duel someone who cannot defend themselves."

"All those people you killed, did you give them a chance to fight back? All those werewolves who drunk that potion, all those Squibs you sterilised. Did you let them fight you first?" It was impossible to keep his voice even now. It shook with fury, went watery with rage. Harry gripped his wand. He had an easy shot from where he stood. "This isn't a duel, Curtius. This is an execution."

"I—I never killed anyone, Harry—"

" _You never killed anyone?_ What, you're going to deny it?"

"What I did wasn't the same! You may not realise this, but to be a utilitarian, some people cannot survive. It's _not_ the same as killing them."

"Yes it is," Harry seethed. He wanted to be closer than this, he wanted to see the pain and the light in his eyes, his body struggle against its binding. He vaulted over the last few benches, reaching the floor quickly. He swiped his wand through the air, lifting Gladstone like a doll. His body soared, large and unflatteringly swollen, until Harry lowered it stiffly into the chair at the centre of the room.

Gladstone's mouth trembled. It was interesting, the way a man begged for his life at the end. Grigarex hadn't; he hadn't believed Harry would do it, he never thought he had a reason to beg. But Gladstone begged.

"Are you really going to murder me, Harry?" he whispered. "Are you really going to murder me? What does that make you, then? You're not doing this for the Greater Good; you don't even have a reason. What are you doing this for? Revenge? Righteousness? You'll be worse than me, Harry. What about mercy? You were a man who spared the very worst because you took mercy on them."

For the first time, Harry blanched. He had never once withheld mercy. He had even offered it to Tom Riddle—to Voldemort—to whatever was left that was human in his heart. He had beseeched him for repentance. Mercy over justice.

Harry's hand trembled on the grip of his wand. Seeing this hesitation, Gladstone seized upon it.

"I-I understand why you killed Grigarex, I understand that—but would you really kill me Harry? I'm your fellow countryman."

"I thought you said there was no difference between goblin and human," Harry said quietly. "This is the way it has to be Curtius. An eye for an eye."

"Mercy, please, Harry. Mercy! You'll be a murderer. Is that what you've turned into? A murderer?"

His breath came heavy and fast through his teeth, and the grip on his wand shook. He could never be swayed by the rhetoric, never again would he let Gladstone use the values he held so dearly to twist his arm. He thought of the pile of bodies Gladstone's ideals were built on. He had said an eye for an eye.

The amulet around his neck grew hot. It was not Ron's voice who spoke through the pendent, but Hermione's. It came through as a low hiss.

"About ten goblins are moving down to search the Department of Mysteries, Harry. If you haven't found anyone there, _leave_."

An eye for an eye.

"Let's do it your way," Harry said, whipping his wand upwards with a silent curse. Gladstone's body was flung back in the air, floating like a strange blimp back up towards the entrance of Courtroom Ten. Harry directed him out briskly by wand point, through the black door at the end, through to the Department of Mysteries. The Minister's body bobbed above his wand like a balloon on a string.

Ron was already in the chamber of the room, surrounded by doors, the vast majority marked by red Xs. He stared at Harry in disbelief as he entered.

"You found him."

"Evacuate," Harry said quietly. "They're coming."

"What're you—"

"Do you think you know which leads to the Chromosome Room?"

It was a sign of his loyalty and trust that Ron did not question Harry with so little time left. Instead, he examined the rooms he had already been through and marked, pointing at one of the wobbly Xs, saying that he was pretty certain it was that one. Again, Harry insisted Ron go, even as Gladstone began to beg him for his help. He didn't give him a chance to finish his speech.

They were through the door, and Ron's guess had been right. They were in the room, dark and solemnly lit, rigged with the results of countless human experiments. Harry drew up a silver chair and dropped Gladstone into it. Mechanically, he took the Minister's wand from his closed fist, pocketed it, and bound him with thick chains. They had smashed all the potions on the shelves during the Order's last visit, but Harry scanned the room to find another set of potions on the back wall, in a glass case. All were marked as _experimental brew – SB._

He smashed the glass.

"You can choose to drink this, or you can let the goblins kill you," Harry said, placing the potion in Gladstone's hand. "Your choice."

"Harry—no—please, don't leave me—please—"

The amulet around his neck glowed hot again, but this time there was no message. He needed to meet up with the others.

"It's your choice," Harry shrugged, waving his wand to release the Body-Bind.

The realisation that this was how he was going to die dawned on Curtius Gladstone just as Harry reached the door; he had the chance to watch the comprehension meet the terror, the way his body—tied up but no longer rigid—began to shudder in anticipation. Harry reached for the Invisibility Cloak inside his breast pocket, turned and threw it over his head. He did not look back.

* * *

Slytherins and Gryffindors react very differently in a crisis.

This was something that crossed Scorpius' mind as he placed a hand very gently on Meredith Maxwell's shoulder.

Gryffindors were brash, bold, ready for confrontation.

"What's going on here?" Rosmerta demanded, hovering by the Wireless with a tray of butterbeers balanced in her hand. A Gryffindor response.

The aggression of the goblins was redirected towards her, the way a bull refocuses its attention on a red sheet. She was one of two adults in the room, and spoke with a reassurance that immediately settled the fourth year students down. The Wireless sat harmlessly above the bar, having resumed its show tune, unaware of the message that it had just issued.

"We don't want any trouble, so if you try to start something…"

"You'll what?" one goblin rasped. The tattoos on his skull were blue. Arrows over his eyebrows, giving him a sharp, pointed look. "Contact your Ministry? I don't think you'll have much luck."

Slytherins would try to improvise their way out with sweet talk and trickery.

"C'mon, now. No need ter get snappy," Claretta said in a honeyed voice, coming out from behind the safety of the bar. She was holding her wand in one hand and a bottle of firewhiskey in the other. "No need ter start up anything, now."

"Sweetheart," Romnuk growled, sliding out from his seat. There was a heaviness to his gait, a slight slump in his step, and he walked slowly towards the centre of the room on stout legs. His hammer weighed him down. "We just came in for a good time."

No one dared move. The group of fourth years were stiff in their chairs. James gripped Lily's shoulder like a vice. Albus and Hugo extracted their wands from their jeans, holding them low at their hips. Scorpius shuffled ever so slightly in front of Meredith. Rose stood there, watching, her jaw clenched. The danger of the situation felt veiled, something slithering in the dark. There was no danger unless someone treated the situation as dangerous. If anyone said anything, if anyone were to raise a wand, the situation would escalate.

"Why don't yeh take a seat and I'll get a round of drinks on the house?" Claretta said. She spoke calmly, almost with humour, but her knuckles were white around the neck of the bottle.

Romnuk stared at her pretty, heart shaped face for several beats. His small eyes shifted towards the bar.

Then, the crisis unfolded.

He lunged forward, grabbed Anisha Bajwa by the hair, dragged her from her chair. The other fourth year screamed, diving beneath the table. Three spells fired, all bouncing off his chest plate—Albus, Hugo and Rosmerta. Bold, brash, quick, but too late to cause any damage. Before anyone could aim for his neck, Romnuk was holding Anisha in front of himself.

"Drop your wands and roll them towards our table."

Three of the other goblins stood, extracting wands or rapiers. They moved casually towards those waiting at the bar.

"Don't touch her," Rosmerta hissed.

"Drop your wands and no one gets hurt."

Lily shook with fury, extracting her wand with no intention of dropping it. Bold, brash.

Romnuk sighed heavily, as if the whole exercise was beginning to tax him. He raised his hammer over Anisha, a sob escaping her lips.

"Drop them," Claretta said quietly.

"Listen to her," Romnuk murmured, his accent mangling the words.

There was a beat, long enough for everyone to wonder if this was really real. Only Romnuk looked completely at ease, almost bored with the scenario, Anisha whimpering under his fist. The first wand that fell to the floor was hers. It dropped with a clatter from her limp hand. The others followed, one by one, each sound ringing out over the wooden floorboards. Scorpius' was the last to drop, resentfully. He kicked his towards the table. Everyone was still. Anisha snivelled. One of the goblins bent to collect the wands, and on his movement, Claretta sprung forward and smashed the glass bottle over Romnuk's head.

Everyone suddenly sprung into motion again. It all happened in seconds. Rosmerta attempted to wrestle the wands out of the goblin's hands. Romnuk threw Anisha to the floor, howling in pain. Rose leaped over the bartop, grabbed a row of shot glasses, and began throwing them one after the other towards the goblins—each shattered on impact, one goblin screaming as the glass got him in the eye. Claretta swung again with the bottle, which shattered upon impact, but this time it only cleaved his shoulder. He grabbed her by the wrist and snatched the bottle from her hands, raising his hammer and smashing it over her head. Her body crumpled to the floor.

James roared, leaping forward. Albus grabbed his shoulder and pulled him towards the bar.

After the outbursts of motion, everyone froze again. Rosmerta was still on the floor, empty handed, the goblin holding one of the wands to her neck, the rest tucked into his belt. The fourth year remained under the table, Anisha having scrabbled beside her friend. The two Hufflepuff girls had pinned themselves to the back wall. Rose stood behind the bar, a shot glass limp in her hand.

Blood already pooled on the floor from where the hammer had split Claretta's skull. If she was not yet dead, she would die very quickly. Romnuk licked his teeth, wincing as his own blood ran into his eye. He bent down, muttering furiously as he extracted a short, thick knife, grabbed Claretta by her matted hair and pulled her upright.

"DON'T FUCKING TOUCH HER!" James roared, rearing again, Albus pulling him back with everything he had.

For Scorpius, it was clear what was about to happen before it happened. He grabbed Meredith and covered her eyes with his flat, sweaty palm. He squeezed his own eyes shut.

In one slick movement, Claretta's head was free from her shoulders.

"Fuck," James gasped, his chest heaving. "Don't fucking touch her—no— _no_. Fuck."

This was really happening. There was blood on the floor. There was a desensitising comprehension that someone had just died. That they were probably going to die.

"We got lucky," Romnuk growled, swinging the head around to face the windows. "Looks like Granger and Potter's ones are all here."

* * *

 **A/N: This is not where I planned on breaking the action, but I want to keep these chapters succinct.**

 **Sorry for the delay. There's been some serious stuff happening in my family this month and writing Chapter 16 & 17 have been difficult to say the least.**

 **When I asked Nicole last night, "What would I do without ya?" she responded, "Write fanfiction with 'Department o mysteries'." Thanks for editing out all my typos, you wonderful creature you.**

 **Read and review and don't be too mad at me, k? Van x**


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**A/N: trigger warning for violence I guess, but it's mostly off-screen (off-page?) implied violence so nothing too serious.**

* * *

—CHAPTER SEVENTEEN—

Stella Bellucci, who always had roses in her cheeks, whose hair always fell in faultless waves, who moved as lightly as a songbird, arrived back at Hogwart's gates almost unrecognisable. Never had Stella Bellucci looked less composed in her life. She was the picture of a ruffled hen, having rounded up about twenty school students who were clucking and squawking with terror. It was fortunate that she ran into Hagrid, who was just beyond the school's statues of the winged boars, plastering on one of its broken tusks, looking very grim as he did so.

He was about to look grimmer.

"Everythin' alrigh', Professor?" Hagrid asked, glancing over the faces of the students. "Haven't heard abou' what's happening down at Londen, have yer?"

"What—no, not at all. Not quite sure what's happening in London," she said, scant of breath, her hands fluttering like nervous wings. "Hagrid, I've just had to evacuate Hogsmeade. We need Professor Drummond down at The Three Broomsticks immediately."

Hagrid stood tall, almost doubling in height, very serious. "What's the matter?"

Her face was completely colourless, her lips so pale that even the red pigment on them did little to lift her pallor. She reached up and gripped her neck with her long hands and gulped, as if trying to communicate something through a charade. Then—

"How do I—I'm not even sure if there's ever been a precedent—there's been some sort of attack at the Three Broomsticks, and there are students still inside."

It was perhaps experience, or simply adrenalin, that kicked Hagrid right into gear. He motioned with one large hand at the eldest student in the bunch, pointing them up to the castle. "Take 'em all up ter see Professor Longbottom, alrigh'? Never mind what yer saw, we'll get this sorted. Stella, you ought to go get the Headmaster."

Stella Bellucci let the seventh year depart with the group of students before she drew closer to Hagrid, hardly even reaching his ribs, and stood on her toes to ask in what she hoped was a low voice, "You haven't seen Scorpius Malfoy or Rose Weasley come up this way with a second year student, have you?"

"I've bin down here for the last fifteen minutes and I ain't seen no one comin' back up ter the school, Bellucci."

* * *

Surely, someone would come. Rose kept telling herself this. Someone would burst in at any moment. She was so convinced of it that she kept looking at the doors, waiting, expectant. It wouldn't take them long, she imagined. Any moment now, someone would burst in. She just had to keep watching the door.

It was easier to watch the door then to watch what was happening, although Scorpius was watching very intently, unblinking. He was stoic—very still, behind Meredith's small frame, his hands still over her eyes, her hands gripping onto his. The goblins were coming together to organise in their language. One was holding all the wands, bundled together, like kindling. Another was wiping down the rapier that had been used. Romnuk was still holding the waitress' head by her hair, gesturing towards the bar, then upstairs, then the windows. They looked like they were figuring out what to do next. They were improvising as they went.

"Quiet," one grunted—the one that was trying to lift Claretta's body off the floor.

The order did nothing to quiet James, who was howling so hard his body shook with each sob. However, the goblin had addressed the order at Albus. His eyes—buried under a heavyset brow full of tattoos—met the only other pair in the room that did not seem shaken. Albus half-knelt on the floor, his arms still wrapped around his older brother's chest as he heaved huge sobs, gasped for air like a man drowning in water. There was no chance James would be quiet. He was inconsolable. It was not ideal; if James was operating at his usual self, Albus would have his hands free. And if he had his hands free, he would have already struck the goblin staring at him with his bare fist.

Everyone was waiting, waiting for what would happen next. Rose watched the door. She still stood behind the bar, holding a shotglass limply. James howled with tears, rocking back and forth.

"This is what we will do," Romnuk said switching to English. His voice, guttural and grim, hammered at each word. Slowly, he walked to the centre of the room and gestured at the small group of teenagers. "All of you get behind the counter. Sit there."

There was a pause—a shuffle—and the others obliged. Even Rosmerta, who was still dazed. Everyone joined Rose behind the bar.

"Your government has fallen," Romnuk said, matter of fact. But the delight was clear in the sharp point of his teeth, the dancing light in his dark eyes. "All we want now is to end the possibility of it beginning again. There are people we need to see dead. None of them include you, so we ask that you behave."

Behind him, gathered around the table, two of the goblins were placing wands to the decapitated head of the waitress. One took a knife and gently ran it over his thumb, letting the dashes of blood fall into Claretta's mouth. The other began to chant a spell.

Necromancy. As it was unfolding, everyone could feel their skin crawl, their hair raise. Meredith gasped. Hugo covered his ears. Rose dropped her shotglass with a shatter. It was like something dark was coiling through the air, making their skin feel like oil. Even James' sobs shuddered into submission. There was her puppet like head, repeating the words of the first goblin that had shed a pinprick of blood—repeating names. The names of their parents, of colleagues, of friends. Of former prime ministers and former goblin monarchs. Leaders. As Claretta's voice repeated these names, loud and clear, they seemed to magnify in volume so that the words entered into the skulls of each hostage, so very loud that it rattled in their heads.

"One of you must hold the head in the window so they will see," Romnuk's henchman said.

"Get the one that looks like Potter."

"Or Weasley's little one, the boy."

"No. Use the youngest child. We will rotate through them all," Romnuk ordered, eyes scanning the group.

He clicked his long fingers at Meredith, sharp and quick. She snapped to attention, quivering like a mouse. Scorpius' grip tightened on her.

" _No,"_ Rose said, the words flying out without her meaning them to. "No, I'll hold the head. I'll go first."

"We want the littlest one," Romnuk growled. "Hand her over."

"Over my dead body," Albus hissed.

"That can be arranged," one goblin seethed.

The three of them bristled.

"None of you are in a position to negotiate with us," Romnuk snarled. "And tell that scum to suffocate before I do it for him."

Lily took Albus' place, wrapping her arms tightly around her eldest brother. In an attempt to stifle him, she wedged her arm into his mouth.

"Someone's coming," Rose whispered. "They have to."

"I hope not," Scorpius murmured. They were being used as bait. The very worst thing to happen was to have anyone on that hitlist show up to rescue them. This was why Gladstone should never have negotiated with a terrorist, Scorpius thought grimly. Of course, from what he had just heard, Gladstone was now dead.

"Take the girl," Romnuk said.

Two of the goblins came forward to get Meredith. Rose lashed out again, this time grabbing one around the chest He slapped her hard enough to send her smashing into the countertop. Meredith was pried from Scorpius' thin, ineffectual fingers. She was hoisted over the bar top with a scream. Her legs kicked out, her arms wrestled them, but she was tiny, wiry, feeble.

"James Potter is a snivelling mess," Romnuk sneered. "We'll start with the next eldest two. Granger's girl and Potter's boy."

No one dared move. Two of the goblins approached. With a twitch of their wands, they motioned for the pair of cousins to head to the second level of the bar.

Albus and Rose made their way past the pool of blood on the floor and headed for the staircase.

Behind them, Meredith stood by the front windows, her arms shaking under the weight of Claretta's head, holding it up as it chanted its reprised, sinister swan song.

* * *

Harry arrived at the Atrium, feeling emptied and soiled and cold to his very bones. Ron was beside him, his face looking as Harry felt. The rest of Team A were rattled. Hermione was shaking with fury. "Where have you two _been_?"

"We need to get to Diagon Alley," Ginny said, tapping the amulet around her neck. "Fred tried to get a hold of me twice."

"Where's the rest of our team?" Harry asked.

"We sent them off with the Ministry employees we found hiding. We thought it best to take them back to the Burrow."

Harry nodded curtly and brisked by them, towards the fireplaces, then halted. The Ministry had fallen, which mean all Ministerial incantations were no longer in check. The whole country was fair game.

"We can Apparate right out of here," he said, and turned on the spot.

With several pops, they arrived at The Leaky Cauldron. The pub was scattered with injured or traumatised non-combatants. Some were goblins, caught in the crossfire, either wilfully or accidentally on the wrong side of this uprising. George was there, attempting to tend to wounds, his face deathly serious for once. The moment he saw the A Team arrive, he hailed them over.

"We've split the street. They took Gringotts, but we've barricaded everything off with Anti-Apparition Charms."

"Still, Hermione, you best go over that as well, it was a dodgy spell to start with," Dean Thomas added, gesturing out into the street. "The battle's happening on the other side, and the elves already arrived."

"So, what do we do?" George asked gruffly, turning back to Harry. The rest of the group followed expectantly.

While Harry was consistently regarded as Undesirable, dangerous, hunted, he was also consistently sought after to lead, to save, to be followed. It was the title of Chosen One, marking him with infamy as well as hope. The more Gladstone had attempted to quash him, the more their Order numbers had swelled. And now, as the goblin uprising was almost complete, wizards turned to him, expecting him to step up as a frontrunner, as a politician, as a hero. It was what forced the goblins after him. It spurred the cycle.

But _he_ had never been chosen as a leader. He was definitely not the Chosen One anymore.

"Is it almost over?" He asked, walking through the doors.

"No idea, but there'll be a lot of injured."

The clamour and uproar from the street sounded like a proper warzone. The thought chilled Harry to the bone. All there was to it was get on the other side of the wall and begin fighting.

"Hold on a sec, mate," Ron said, seizing Harry's shoulder. He pulled him aside, perhaps at the very worst time to interrupt his zeal. After all, people expected Harry—needed to see him to keep on fighting. Before he could even express so much to Ron, his friend interrupted him. "You need to tell me what went down at the Ministry."

He shrugged himself free. "That can wait."

"Did you kill Gladstone?" he pressed.

Harry paused, wondering whether he could say no considering the circumstances he left him in. He took a deep breath. "What difference does it make? Come on."

* * *

"I don't know anything," Rose seethed through gritted teeth. "What do you want me to say?"

"Do you want to feel pain? Maybe that will loosen your lips."

Staring down a wand without any weapon to fight back did something to a person. It activated their adrenalin but shut down their ability to process. There was not a dead woman in the room below. Their friends and family were not trapped behind a bar. All of that was happening somewhere else, far away. All they could see was the tip of the wand in front of them, ready to ignite pain or humiliation at any moment. Both Albus and Rose stood like rabbits in torchlight, unable to attack their captor.

They didn't have a name for him—whoever this goblin was—but Rose had called him Mister Arrowbrows twice during the course of their interrogation. It had gotten her a taste of the Cruciatus Curse for the first time in her life. She wasn't sure how much time had passed since they were taken upstairs but she was hoping if she drew it out long enough, they wouldn't interrogate their younger siblings. Lily and Hugo—endlessly gossiping and eavesdropping—would have far more information to give up than she and Albus did.

"You will tell us the exact location of the Order's Headquaters," Arrowbrows growled.

"Even what we do know, we can't tell you," Albus shrugged, unreasonably cool-headed. "There is magic that stops us from being able to speak about it."

There had been an explosion out on the street about ten minutes ago; startling everyone into a voluble discord, but it did not lead to any grand rescue or to Aurors breaking down the doors. Still, they were waiting for someone to save them. Perhaps there was a fight out on the street. There were footsteps on the staircase and everyone went quiet, including Mister Arrowbrows. Clearly he was concerned over how much time this was taking. Another goblin entered, this one with eyes that were so close together they almost met at the bridge of his nose. He glared at the two teenagers for a moment before saying something sharp and quick in Gobbledegook.

Then, the second goblin smirked and turned to take Albus' chin in his long fingers, staring him directly in the eyes, while he clutched his thick, short wand in his free hand. Albus twitched away, the muscles in his face working overtime as he attempted to keep his mind blank. Legilimency was not a skill merely known to wizards, and whatever variety of magic this goblin was trained in, he was adept. After a moment, Albus shut his eyes very tightly. Rose wanted to lash out, to attack again, but her face was already smarting from where she had been hit. Without a wand, she was weak, useless.

"Useless—there is some sort of spell keeping you from thinking of it."

"Try the girl instead."

Albus was growing impatient. He whipped his head out of the goblin's hands. "We're both under the Fidelius Charm. What you're doing is pointless."

Still, he held his wand against Rose's throat and stared into her unblinking eyes, his own dark and deep-set. He murmured the incantation. With a disconcerting poke, it felt as if a sharp finger had jabbed at Rose's mind, snagging her thoughts like string. They unravelled. Her anxieties about Lily and Hugo downstairs, about Meredith who should never have been here at all, about Scorpius whom she was supposed to have just been on a date with—just been carelessly having a date with, enjoying their first proper date in public—

"Pointless," the goblin seethed.

It sounded like a scuffle had broken out downstairs again—wood splintering and breaking, the sound of a hammer cracking through plaster. Rose turned towards the window and her stomach flipped. Down on the opposite end of the street was an entire line up of people—many of whom she recognised; teachers from the school; a few ex-Aurors. All of them were lined up, wands out, squaring off across from the Three Broomsticks. Just staring.

No movement. No one was trying to do anything.

"Tell us how to get into Hogwarts."

"I won't tell you _anything_."

" _Crucio_!"

The spell hit Rose, not Albus. She had not been expecting it. Her attention had been entirely preoccupied by the line of adults, standing by idly on the sidelines. As the spell hit her for the third time, her knees buckled. The pain was so white hot that no scream left her mouth. It gaped wide in a silent shriek.

"Take them downstairs. Romnuk is done wasting time."

* * *

When Dumbledore had died, a part of Harry had stalled, as if he were incapable of accepting the fact—not merely because of how deeply he had relied upon and looked up to his former Headmaster, but because to Harry, Dumbledore was a force of nature, a constant in the same category as inertia and gravity. Without Dumbledore, Harry hadn't known where to go or what to do, for a lot of his direction had been steered by that great wizard for most of his life.

For a moment, he felt the same way when he saw Kingsley Shacklebolt's body on a bed in the Leaky Cauldron. All the other bodies were in the pub downstairs, lined up and in the process of being identified, but Angelina had brought Kingsley upstairs and had had then sent for Harry. They wanted to afford Kingsley a little more dignity, a bit more privacy.

Two Ministers had died today, Harry thought, taking a few steps towards the body. First Gladstone, then Kingsley. In death, he looked smaller and older than he had in life. Gone was the sombre but settling smile, the wise eyes, the patient tone. It was all gone. Kingsley looked almost frail, elderly, tired. His eyes were shut peacefully, but his heavy brow drooped in such a way that he looked distressed.

"I stopped them from beheading him," Angelina said, dragging down deep breaths. "But by the time I got the goblin who did it—"

"It's fine, Angelina. Could I have a moment?"

"Sure," she gulped before leaving the room.

Death was not unfamiliar to Harry, but it was difficult to accept that Kingsley would no longer sit at Order meetings late into the night, devising plans. He was the man who trained Harry, who gave him and Ron their jobs, who changed the wizarding world with the hope of it all being for the better. Somehow, Harry had expected dimly that with Gladstone's death and the Ministry fallen, it would be Kingsley who would take the reins—rising up once more, his wealth of experience under his belt and the crowds grateful to welcome in someone well-known and steadfast. It had never been discussed, but now faced with the prospect of no leader to rally behind, Harry realised it was what he had pinned his hopes on.

"Er, Harry…" It was Ron, standing at the door, slightly breathless at the sight of their fallen trailblazer. He cleared his throat. "Blimey…Harry, I'm sorry, but they're sending up one of the elves to take him back to The Burrow."

"Right," Harry said, wiping the tears from under his glasses.

"You know, it could've been so much worse if we hadn't sent the other groups straight here. I didn't think even we expected the Ministry to fall that fast."

"Yeah, lucky," Harry said tonelessly. Their morning at the Ministry now seemed like a horrible nightmare. Harry kept thinking of Gladstone's face quivering in fear. He closed his eyes tightly but the image remained. "I'm not different than them."

"What?" Ron was beside Harry in a second, squatting now.

"Only Kingsley really stood for something without it all going to his head. I thought…I sort of expected him to be the one to lead us out of this month."

"Yeah…" Ron said slowly. "You know, people are going to look to you now. People will expect it. Probably more than they had imagined Kingsley."

The thought was gut wrenching, enough to make him choke. What was guilt these days? What did it mean? Harry had blood on his hands, just as Romnuk did. There was no one left to call themselves innocent. Every person had a body count hanging over their heads, Harry no exception. Had they not killed anyone that day? Fine. But how many people had they let die?

"It can't be me, Ron. I'm no different from the rest of them."

"Mate," his friend said, placing his hand gently on Harry's shoulder. "C'mon, that's not true. You really reckon you're the same as Gladstone? Or Grigarex? You're barking."

"I _wanted_ Gladstone to die. I made sure of it. It just wasn't me who cast the spell."

Ron was clearly struggling to find words of consolation. He was silent for a few beats, his hand tightening slowly on Harry's shoulder. "I think a lot of people are grateful to see Gladstone go, mate."

Harry was in tears again, aching. His shortcomings seemed all the more worse kneeling before Kingsley, who died with integrity stitched into the fibre of his being. "What happened to the days where I exercised mercy?" Harry choked out. "Where I let the law deal with criminals and didn't think about revenge? I used to be that way when I was younger, Ron. I used to have a compass."

"In third year," Ron said, in the way he always started old stories, as if he wasn't entirely sure of the details he was about to recall, "back when Sirius dragged me down to the Shrieking Shack, I really thought Sirius and Remus _would_ go through with murdering Pettigrew, right before our eyes. And as an adult, looking back, I understand why they felt like that. Because he got your parents killed, and he helped get a whole lot of other people killed, while all the while pretending to be a saint. I think I understand why Remus and Sirius were so sure what they were doing was right.

"And yeah, mate, you stopped them. You told them that your parents would rather not see them murderers, that the Dementors could deal with my stupid rat. It was a bloody noble thing, it was a _good_ thing. I'm glad you did it, that you spared his pitiful life instead of ending it. But you were young back then, and your ideals were still good and solid and unchallenged. You were idealistic and hopeful and hadn't been failed. But how many times have we seen the system fail us? Politically, judicially, in every which way, it lets the criminals go and the victims are punished. You begin to see why revenge is such an appealing substitute to justice.

"I don't think you're a murderer, Harry. I think you're just feeling a lot like Sirius must've. And unlike him, you don't have a noble thirteen year old to be a voice of virtue."

Harry drew back, still feeling sick with shame. All Ron had done was confirm that somehow, in the process of getting older and jaded, he had lost his incorruptibility. He took a deep shaky breath and turned back to Kingsley, laying a hand on his chest.

The warmth hadn't left his body yet.

"Excuse me, sirs, I am here to take away Mr Kingsley," a voice squeaked.

Both men stood and stepped aside, clearly shaken but attempting to seem together.

"What's your name?"

"Millie, sir."

"Millie, please take care of him," Harry said. Then, he and Ron left the room.

They were preparing to be assaulted by the devastating visual of the goblins, elves and wizards who had fallen in battle, and headed for the stairs sombrely. Harry's crisis of morality was not brought up—perhaps because Ron didn't exactly disagree with his motives, or perhaps because the Order's attempts to let the goblins eliminate Gladstone were just as merciless. Silence only seemed fitting for what laid ahead of them. Harry knew as he saw those bodies, they would just be more people he had been unable to protect. They had not even reached the second landing when Hermione came flying up so fast she almost ran into the bannister.

"Oh thank _God_ , I didn't know where you two were!"

"I saw you twenty minutes ago," Ron said, somewhat confused by her panic. Then, behind her, taking the staircase at double speed, was Neville.

"Aren't you two wearing your bloody amulets?" Neville demanded, puffing hard.

"They've been heating up all afternoon," Harry responded defensively. In any case, he had wanted to view Kingsley's body without interruption. His amulet was shoved into his pocket. "We told you, we were covered here. You could've just stayed at the school."

"There's a siege happening _right now_ in Hogsmeade."

It took both Harry and Ron a moment for this to sink in –" _What_?"– but Neville was still explaining in one long breathless sentence.

"—tried to handle it but Drummond's dead now and we can't figure out any way in and they're after _you_ , Harry. You and Hermione. They've got all your kids and then some in the Three Broomsticks and I'm certain it's Romnuk holding them."

* * *

As soon as Rose and Albus were shoved down the stairs, they realised things were unravelling. Hugo was sporting a bloody lip—Rosmerta held a rag up to his face. James had finally stopped crying and was staring directly at a wall, his fingers in his ears, blocking out the sound of Claretta's voice as she continued with the list of names. Scorpius' nose looked broken, as was a chair, which was splintered into pieces.

After absorbing these details, the cousins' attention turned to the windows. Lily was standing by the glass, holding Claretta's head in slightly shaky arms. There was no telling how long she had been standing there, facing the street, but she wasn't budging.

"It will be only a matter of time until they manage to break the Anti-Apparition Charm," Romnuk growled, gesturing to the street, surprisingly finicky.

"They may try to send in elves," Arrowbrows supplied. "They have an elf division."

"We kill them all if they send elves in," he said, gesturing at the students behind the bar.

"That will not get you Potter or Granger."

Whatever Romnuk said in his own language, it sounded like a string of profanities. Rose and Albus quickly crossed to Scorpius, wanting details. He gingerly dabbed at his nose with the corner of his sleeve.

"What happened?" Albus demanded.

"Meredith got too tired to hold up—up the—she got tired," Scorpius finished, lowering his arm. "When they grabbed her I…"

"He lost it," Hugo said, touching his forehead.

"He smashed a chair over Romnuk's head," Anisha added.

A swell of pride washed some of the fatigue out of Rose's head and she stared at her boyfriend with tears in her eyes.

Romnuk caught his name and swung his hammer towards Rose and Albus, his face contorted in anger. "Stop talking! We need live bait to coax Potter out of hiding."

The goblin with the narrow eyes selected one of the wands from his belt—Rose recognised it as Hugo's—and crossed to the Wireless, tapping it a few times to get it started. There was no longer anything coming out of it; no ministerial message, no news reports or Gladstone propaganda. Static crackled against static like snow whirling in a blizzard and the airwaves were empty, easy to infiltrate. The Ministry of Magic really had fallen.

A shoulder brushed against Rose and she found Albus taking several steps forward to square off with Romnuk. His fists were empty but clenched, a phantom wand inside his curled fingers. It was as if he were presenting himself ready for the beating, volunteering for whatever Romnuk was preparing to do.

Thinking of Lily by the window, Hugo behind the bar, Meredith on the floor, Rose stepped up beside him. She had just taken the Cruciatus Curse. Surely, she could cope with anything they threw at her.

The radio whistled, then fuzzed down into apprehensive silence. The goblin still had his wand to the dial. He nodded at his boss, giving him the go-ahead. Romnuk leered at the two cousins, standing shoulder to shoulder, their faces set.

"Here we are, back again, within the inn that was once the headquarters for the 1612 goblin rebellion. Truly historic," Romnuk growled, each word curling with an entertainer's cruelty. "Events form an endless chain. But I am here to break the chain today."

There was a quality to his voice, a scratch, a grate, that made one's skin crawl. It was even more difficult to watch the sounds leave his crooked mouth, his throat jump and strain as he churned out the sentences.

"I enjoy breaking." He tapped his hammer on the inside of his calloused palm, keeping beat with his words. "I have broken spirits. I have broken bones. Today, I will break an entire civilisation. Gladstone is dead. Shacklebolt is either dead or will soon be dead. We want Harry Potter dead. We want Hermione Granger dead. There will be no leaders to take power, no power to abuse. No laws to break. We will live in the land of lawlessness. Deliver us these two humans, and you can keep your children and have your peace."

Bizarrely, Scorpius stepped up beside them. He had no reason to—they would gain nothing by torturing him. Still, he stood beside Rose and Albus, the only three in the room facing Romnuk.

"Ah…it might interest listeners to know that Scorpius Malfoy is here, standing beside Weasley and Potter as if he were a soldier. Hm, your father would not be happy about that."

Scorpius didn't say anything. He clenched his jaw, the only betrayal of any emotion, as blood trickled from his nose.

"The Malfoys paid us a hefty sum to stay away from you," Romnuk said, clucking his tongue. "They were quite desperate to ensure your safety. Imagine how they feel knowing how poorly that money was spent."

Whether this taunting was getting anything out of Scorpius—or his family on the other end of the wireless—was neither here nor there. No one moved. Everyone remained behind the bar. Lily's arms shook under the weight of Claretta's head.

"If Potter and Granger really are going to be cowards about this, we suppose we have very little choice. I have my hammer in my hand and I am ready to use it. Like I said, I enjoy breaking."

The smile could be heard in his voice, itching through his teeth.

"Do your worst," Albus bit back.

"Oh no, not you three…I want to start with the little one."

Both the goblins nodded. They headed behind the bar, where everyone pressed themselves into the shelves and cupboards. It took Rose a minute to register who they meant, and by the time she had, they were already dragging Meredith out by her hair.

* * *

"For fuck's sake," Harry seethed, smashing his fist over the wireless. "Why aren't we down there _right now_?"

"Harry— _listen_ to us," Ellie Cattermole snapped, her fingers clenching onto the Headmaster's table. "The entire street has been mined. Step onto the pavement and you'll be blown sky high."

"Flying is out," Neville added, before Harry could even get the suggestion out of his mouth. "Anything that even hovers so much as an inch over the ground triggers the explosions."

" _Do your worst_ ," a voice said through the Wireless' speakers, and he instantly recognised it as his youngest son's. His stomach gave a terrifying lurch.

"That's why they were tunnelling a few months ago, Harry," Ginny moaned, taking a seat in Drummond's chair. "It wasn't to get into the school. They were tunnelling to plant mines."

"No, Ginny. They were definitely trying to get into the school."

"A diversion, maybe," Ron proposed.

"What fucking difference does that make now? Let's just _go_."

"This is what they want from us, Harry," Hermione said, her eyes wide and red from all her crying. "They want us racing in there and getting ourselves killed! We'll be no use to any of them if we're dead!"

The portraits of former headmasters gazed down, thunderstruck, unable to offer any advice, to think of any plans. They had only just been told of the events. Drummond was dead. Neville had explained the details while standing behind the Headmaster's desk. When he attempted to cross the street to the Three Broomsticks, he set off an explosion that turned him into pink mist. The rest of the staff and Aurors spent ten minutes trying to disarm the charms around the building with little avail. All of Hogsmeade had been evacuated into the school's hall.

A girl was screaming on the other end of the wireless, a high pitch scream followed by the screams of the others—not in pain, but in panic—and the sound was unbearable.

"We'll have to turn ourselves over," he said in a frenzy.

"We can't negotiate with terrorists, Harry. Who's to say they still won't kill the rest of the hostages if we handed you over?" Ellie said, her eyes narrowed. "No, we need a _plan_."

But whether it was the terror of their children trapped in that room or whether it was simply that Romnuk had left no loopholes, none of them could think up a plan. They sat in a stark silence. Dumbledore stared out of his portrait grimly, his periwinkle eyes seeming to X-ray Harry, knowing that he was deeply inadequate to be a leader and a father.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak just as the Headmaster's door flung open.

"Why on earth are you still in this room, Potter?"

And there he was, a splitting image of the man who came before him and the son who would grow up in his shadow. Long silvery hair tied at the nape of his neck. Eyes as impassive as ice. Fists clenched around a cane with the head of a serpent. It was no surprise at all to see him.

"How did you get on the grounds?" Neville stammered. "We're in _lockdown_."

"Are you going to let them hold _my_ _son_ at ransom while you sit here colluding on ways to take over the Ministry?"

"What?" Harry blinked, his eyes blurry from tears and fury.

"Bloody hell, Malfoy, we all have kids in there."

"I suppose you were glad to see the Ministry fall to its knees so you can sweep in, just as everyone has been hoping you would. Saintly Potter, managing to put everything back to its natural order."

"How dare you come into here throwing accusations!"

"We've spent today _fighting_ , Malfoy! Where were _you_? In a bunker?"

Harry was unable to return the vitriol. In Draco's eyes, he saw his own fear mirrored. He turned the volume down on the Wireless, unable to take it any more. "We're trying to come up with a plan. Care to help us?"

There was a beat of silence before Draco crossed to where Neville stood and dragged out the Headmaster's chair. He took a seat, resting his cane across his knees.

"How'd you get in here?" Neville asked again.

"The elves, of course," Draco replied flippantly. "Millie's gone missing, but I had Tasper—my father's elf—Apparate me into the kitchens. Which is why I was surprised you haven't taken action. Surely you can send elves into the Three Broomsticks to get them all out."

"And risk a bloodbath?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows. "The moment those elves are in the room, heads will roll. Your _son's_ head may be one of them."

"If we can't access the shopfront, why aren't we trying to enter from above?"

Ellie hesitated then shook her head. "That might work, but there are mines that detonate based on sensors, not weight. Anything that hovers over the street sets them off."

"So, what? They're just _stuck_ in there? We have _no_ plan?"

Their only choice would be to unearth and unarm the mines, but there would be no way to do that in time. Any plan that even fleetingly took root in Harry's mind would require hours, if not _days_ of preparation. These were the same creatures that had designed the vaults of Gringott's. They knew how to stop trespasses.

"We have to turn ourselves in," Harry decided, yet again, drawing no other conclusion.

This time, it was Draco who spoke in protest, despite his earlier sentiments. "No. We're not giving them what they want anymore."

* * *

No one had come yet. Rose had been certain they would come, but no one had come.

It was late into the afternoon now. The sun was beginning to dip. They had cycled through almost everyone at least once, each taking a turn holding Claretta's head. When it had been Rose's turn, she used the time to analyse the street—completely empty, except for a dewy mists of blood on the ground and a crater the side of a tyre. All the teachers and Aurors had disappeared.

Behind the bar, they were settling in for what they were beginning to realise may be an entire night in siege. Rose has Meredith in her lap, stroking her hair methodically, humming disconcertingly in her ear to distract from the brutally broken mess of her legs. Rose's hands intertwined so tightly that her fingers were numb. No matter what happened for the rest of the night, she wouldn't leave her side.

"I'm hanging the head out the front," one of the goblins muttered. "Give it here."

James, the last to hold Claretta's head, handed it over quietly. He crawled back behind the bar to join the other hostages, completely shelled out, catatonic. He sat on the floor, staring ahead with eyes like stones. It made no difference anyway—none of them were allowed to speak.

The goblins were clearly at a loss. They had expected to have called the siege off by now, to have won. To have other heads to hang from the Three Broomstick's sign. As daylight burned and Hogsmeade remained deserted, two of the goblins followed Romnuk upstairs, while the third—the one with all their wands bundled around his belt—took up one of the booths, staying on guard, smoking heavily from a pipe.

In her head, Rose was trying to make a plan.

James and Meredith were their biggest casualties. How could they move Meredith without her screaming? How could they motivate James to fight when he had utterly switched off? How were they going to fight at all?

With most of the goblins upstairs, they could potentially overcome the guard. Maybe if they used someone to bait him behind the bar—Hugo might agree—and the others attack?

They had been instructed to stay behind the bar, on the ground, where they could not be seen from the windows. It took a while for Rose to realise that this was to make it difficult for anyone looking in to know who had been killed. Maybe the unknowing was worse than the knowing. It was clear Romnuk was running out of tactics.

Albus motioned to Rosmerta with one hand, catching her attention. While she stared, perplexed and exhausted, he slipped his hand into his jacket and pulled out the slim, black quill he had been touting earlier in the day. He motioned in the air with it.

Blatantly, Rose was not the only one trying to think up a plan.

Nodding, Rosmerta closed her eyes and began to remove her bangles as quietly as possible, one by one. Clink _. Clink_. The metal gently cried out as she placed them on the floor. Once they were off, she dug around in her apron and pulled out a small pad, half scribbled with drink orders, and handed it to Albus.

 _What's our best bet for an escape plan? The back kitchen door?_

Rosmerta read the note quickly and shook her head. She took the quill.

 _Too risky. BUT, we're sitting on the trapdoor to the cellar and there's a tunnel that leads out near the train station._

A jolt went through those close enough to read this. Of _course_. Hogsmeade was a very old village; it was full of tunnels and catacombs. Lily's eyes darted over the words, as did Hugo's. He took the quill next.

 _Honeyduke's cellar?_

Lily shook her head. Even if they could get to Honeydukes undetected, that passage had been sealed up. In fact, all of James' escapades into the village had seen to the passages being sealed except for one…

 _It could still be worth trying it and unsealing the passage_ – Albus.

 _We'd have to walk along Main Street, we'll be spotted–_ Lily, the practical voice of reason. But she was already writing down their answer.

Leaning forward, she nudged her eldest brother, who hardly even blinked in response. She held the notepad in front of his face.

 _Shrieking Shack?_

No response from James. But it was clear Lily was figuring out a plan, too. Her brown eyes were hard and quick, flickering through the air as if she was watching it unfold in her head. It wasn't clear how she was doing this. The girl who believed in big, grand romantic gestures; who liked to write up pros and cons lists whenever she made a decision and kept a study schedule; who needed eight hours of sleep and had to fold her socks. It was unclear how she was the one so calm, so strong, so ready to think like a soldier. Lily passed the notepad back to Rose and Albus a moment later and nodded.

She took it in the free hand that wasn't holding onto Meredith. Lily's scrawl was organised, as always, as if she were planning an essay. Her plan was in bullet points.

She would take the pub's cellar passage to Hogsmeade station, then run to the Shrieking Shack.

It would take her approximately over an hour to get back to the school with that passage. Everyone was to wait another thirty minutes before sending the others down the cellar passage to Hogsmede. They wouldn't be going to the Shack, but a much closer secret passage behind an old cottage near the train station. It was a cottage with a red tiled roof and a big boulder at the back _._

 _Slip the boulder aside and follow its tunnel to a big cavern behind a mirror on the FOURTH FLOOR of Hogwarts_ , she had written, her writing becoming messier as she neared the end of the notepad. _It's a big passage and a quick one, James repaired it & used it all of last year. You stay entirely out of town if you follow it so as long as you're quiet you wont get caught._

Underneath, underlined twice:

· _Circulate this, make sure everyone reads it and understands the plan,_ _then destroy it_ _. Remember,_ _wait a full HOUR and THIRTY MINUTES_ _._

There were so many things that could go wrong with this plan. As the paper circulated from student to student, the dread in their faces reflected this. The chance that she would even make it to the Shrieking Shack seemed slight, and if she failed, there was no way to communicate it to the others. They would be heading to the cottage blind.

And of course, the hardest part of this was that there was no way they could move Meredith silently. She couldn't walk, and the pain of moving her would be like a bell around a cat's neck. Perhaps that's why they had broken her legs—to ascertain that they couldn't run away.

When it came down to it, Rose knew she would be the one getting Meredith out of there.

Lily was wasting no time though. She was gesturing for Rosmerta to open the cellar door, which she did so with such gentleness that it hardly creaked. One of the Hufflepuff girls timed it so she coughed at that moment, covering the sound. Lily took one final look at the others before lowering herself down, as quietly as possible, into the dank room below. A fox disappearing into a den. Then, with a flash of her red hair below, she was gone.

It was dark outside, and at this point, no one had the energy to wonder why they hadn't yet been rescued. A rescue wasn't coming. An hour and a half passed at an excruciating pace.

The pad continued to circulate. They decided it was safest to send people down in groups and prepared who would go next. Rosmerta would leave with Anisha and the other fourth year. Then, the two fifth year Hufflepuffs would go with Hugo and James. Albus, Scorpius and Rose would go last. Rose would carry Meredith on her back. Albus pointed at his chest to offer, but she refused. It had to be her.

When they only had thirty minutes left on the clock, the goblin who was keeping their wands stood from his booth and crossed the room. At the sound of his metal boots, everyone tensed.

 _Clunk, clunk._

He moved by them, into the kitchen.

No one dared to breathe. They were bundled in little groups, everyone leaning on each other, some people pretending to doze but really peeking out under their eyelids. If he were to notice Lily was missing, there would _definitely_ be blood. Rosmerta shoved the notepad into her apron pocket and sat on top of the cellar door.

"Here," they heard him grunt as the kitchen door slammed. He threw several loaves of bread over the counter so they fell to the floor, then a loaf of cheese. Then, he leaned over the bar to gesture at a firewhiskey.

"Could I have a glass?" he asked, as if he were a paying customer.

Gingerly, Rosmerta stood and passed him the entire bottle. With that, he headed back across the room, out of sight, presumably to his booth. He hadn't realised he was one hostage short.

 _Please, get drunk and pass out_ , Rose prayed fervently as she stroked Meredith's hair.

One of the Hufflepuff girls crawled across to her with a loaf of bread, tearing it in two and offering it to Meredith. Rose took it and pressed it to her dry mouth, but she was looking peaky now and shook her head ever so slightly. Her face gleamed with sweat. Scorpius took the tea towel Hugo had used for his bloody lip and gently dabbed it over Meredith's head. Things were looking dire. Another fifteen minutes and they could send Rosmerta down with the fourth years.

Rose's mouth was so dry it was hard to swallow.

The Hufflepuff girl took a bite out of the bread and chewed on it for a few seconds before spitting it out, wet and slimy, to slip between Meredith's lips. It would do very little, Rose realised, but she didn't care. She was grateful. The fifth year was familiar—she attended the Social Justice meetings religiously, and Rose placed her face from the meetings where she once attended. How she had despised Rose then, she had been one of those who had jeered, who had tried to silence her from even talking. Now, she was feeding a Slytherin girl food from her mouth. With a feeling like pride, Rose decided she was one of her own. They were all together, all of them—they were not divided by house or politics. They were all scrambling for survival. And if there was one trait that overlapped between the girls, it was the tragic loyalty they owed one another.

It was time for the first group to go. Rosmerta looked panicky, perhaps having second thoughts and wanting to stay until the end, but they knew that she needed to go with the youngest of their number to find the correct cottage. With wide eyes and fearful faces, she opened the hatch door again.

Time seemed to be doing strange things. It kept passing, much too quickly, as if no time was passing at all. It was her brother next, practically dragging James down into the cellar before him. Hugo gripped Rose's shoulder so tightly it almost broke. She was grateful that he had their mother's eyes. His eyes were comforting. She wasn't sure what he saw in hers. Then, he was gone too.

Ten minutes felt like thirty seconds. Rose measured the passing time by the sound of the goblin's steady breathing—it sounded like he was asleep. The Hufflepuff girls were gone by the time she had opened her eyes. She closed them again.

The hands that were wrapped around Meredith's fingers felt numb. Soon, she would have to get Meredith down that cellar and onto her back. The prospect of it was making her shake so hard she felt like she had swallowed a rattlesnake. It was slithering around in her belly. She was going to be sick.

A cool hand pressed against her cheek and her eyes fluttered open. Scorpius stared at her steadily. Eyes like ice, grey and smooth. Rose had to keep herself from crying as she leaned into his palm.

He took the bloody tea towel that has been used for Hugo's lip and bundled it into Meredith's mouth. Despite how faint she looked, how limp, she would scream when they tried to lift her.

The boys were already down the ladder by the time Rose knew she needed to move.

Dragging down a deep breath, she grabbed Meredith under the armpits and dragged her to the hatch. From behind the rag in her mouth, she let out a muffled moan.

Rose froze. The sound of the goblin's breathing had snagged. She started to pray, praying to anyone who could answer this pray— _let us go let us go let us go_ …

Meredith's legs dangled toward the door, so swollen it was difficult to look at them. Both the boy's stood with their arms outstretched below—impatient, fearful. This was it. It was like descending into hell.

As Rose used her knee to push Meredith down the hatch, she screamed.

Then everything was in motion!

She slid into the passage and the boys caught her in their arms. The goblin was vaulting over the counter. Rose threw herself down the passage, feeling the goblin's fingers scrape her sculp. Her feet hit the ground, the boys hoisted Meredith onto her back, and then they were running—sprinting—as hard as they could.

Meredith screamed at the movement and Rose screamed too, over and over, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

The wine cellar was dark and dank, stocked with crates and barrels. When they reached the end, they came to a small door that had been left open. They went through that too, but not before they heard several boots hitting the stone behind them.

All that mattered was that they kept running. If they got to the cottage before the goblins were out of the tunnel, they wouldn't know where the secret passage was. It wouldn't matter that they were wandless.

As soon as Rose had a wand, she would wipe Meredith's memory. This thought was somehow comforting. They would fix her legs and wipe her memory and Meredith would be _fine_. Hogsmeade had been better than anything she could have ever dreamed up, but today had been more than a nightmare.

"I—want—to go-home," Meredith sobbed, her wet mouth blubbering on Rose's shoulder. "I want—to go."

"We're almost there," Rose gasped. The boys were ahead of her.

Something grazed Rose's shoulder—a hot beam of light. They were close behind them. Albus was launching himself up a series of cool, crudely cut steps, and Scorpius turned to search for Rose. "Go!" she yelled, and he sprinted after Albus.

They hurtled into the cool night. The sky stretched up with soft stars. The horizon was thrown all the way back until it hit the mountains. They were well out of the main strip of the village now. The passage opened up right near one of the train station's tunnels, and for a moment, they were all utterly confused. Based on Lily's instructions, Rose had just _expected_ to go from the train station to the cottage, as if they were located directly beside each other. There was nothing around.

"This way," Scorpius said, taking off at a sprint again. They followed, their lungs bursting. Meredith's arms were so tight around Rose's neck she could hardly breathe, but she forced herself to keep moving. They were nearing the outskirts of the village, where the houses were dispersed along a narrow lane. They spotted the red-tiled roof.

A spell dashed by them in the dark, then another.

"Keep running!" Scorpius bellowed. Both the boys were ahead of her. Meredith's extra weight was slowing her down. Scorpius was leaping the cottage's fence. They were _almost_ there.

Another spell. Albus fell to the ground, howling. He immediately tried to get back up.

Something hit Rose—hard—the force knocking her off her feet and sending her face first into the gravel.

Meredith let out a piercing shriek as they hit the ground. The pain must have been unbearable, but there wasn't time to think about that. Once they were back up at the school, they could mend Meredith's legs and give her all sorts of pain-reducing potions. Once they were back at the school, everything would be fine. All she needed to do was get up. Her head rang from the pain of hitting the ground and Meredith's weight was heavy on her back.

Albus turned and ran towards Rose, kneeling down beside her for just a second before springing back up again like a sprinter at a starting block, bursting into a run. Scorpius was running back to check what had happened. Something, clearly, _had_ happened because his face was stricken. Rose couldn't look back; she was still pinned to the ground. There was no time to look back.

Rose had to get up and keep moving.

Albus threw Scorpius a wand—a wand? Where did he get a wand? It didn't matter. She _had_ to get up.

Clutching Meredith's thighs, she heaved herself off the ground. Blood trickled from the graze on her chin. She kept running. Both the boys were firing curses behind her, most likely toward the encroaching goblins. She kept running. Then, Albus was beside Rose, his teeth gritted.

"Give her to me."

"Just open the passage!"

He did so; using the wand he had now retrieved to levitate the boulder aside. He was holding all of their wands—bundled up—in his free fist. Scorpius was suddenly with them, his wand shaking in his grip as he held a Shield Charm. Into another passage they all went, Meredith now limp on Rose's back. Perhaps the pain had finally become too much and she had passed out. Scorpius was behind them, and without a moment's hesitation, he collapsed the entrance of the tunnel.

Rubble scattered across their feet and dust choked the air. They coughed to unclog their mouths.

"Some warning would've been nice," Albus gasped.

They weren't safe. They needed to move. But they took ten seconds to collect their breath, choking out the dust.

"Keep running," Scorpius insisted, his voice ragged. He lit his wand.

Legs burning, lungs aching, phlegm clogging their throats, they ran on. It was all up-hill. The passage forced them to move in single file, Albus at the front, Rose in the middle and Scorpius at the rear.

"Meredith's too quiet," Rose gasped, trying to catch her breath.

"She's okay," Scorpius said. "Don't stop. Keeping going."

"I think she's fainted," Rose added, her lungs burning. "It's probably better. It's better if she's unconscious for this, isnt' it?"

"Stop talking and keep running."

Time was doing that strange thing again, being wound tighter and tighter, quicker and quicker. They were still skittish, expecting another spell to hit them or an axe to come flying at any moment. A steady stream of warm liquid had seeped through the back of Rose's shirt and she thought that Meredith may have wet herself, the same way she had that first night she had slept in the Slytherin common room. The memory made Rose furious. Meredith had been so frightened that first night in the Slytherin dungeons, so scared of ghosts, that she had soiled herself.

Magic should have been a terrifying thing to a young, hyper-anxious muggle girl, and yet, Meredith loved it. She was constantly amazed by it. She enjoyed doing homework because it meant studying spells. She liked learning about magical history. She had sat in and watched every Quidditch match until she got onto the team. All she had wanted was a proper, flying broom. Meredith had such utter faith in magic, such pure joy, that she must have forgotten about her first ever night at Hogwarts. This is where magic had brought her. Here, in this filthy darkness, broken and scared. It had failed her.

After what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, the passage levelled out into a large cavern. They all slowed into a walk, able to leave their tight procession. Light spilled through a thin, rectangular gap in the wall. It was their first chance to stop and rest, and the first thing Albus did was lean against the wall moaning.

"Keep going," Scorpius insisted.

"I can't," Albus gasped, clutching his arm. "I can't."

Things were slowing down again. Rose had to stop so she could breathe. Everything burned with the effort of surviving.

Now, with just a moment to think, she understood Albus' hesitance. Going through that hole would mean leaving all of this behind, but it would also mean dealing with it—seeing what the damage was. She wasn't entirely prepared for that either.

"Albus, _go_."

"But I—I just—" he dragged down a deep breath and pushed himself towards the rectangular hole, struggling to lift his legs high enough to clamber through.

"I'll take Meredith and pass her through," Scorpius said, easing her gently off Rose's back.

After the grip on Meredith's thighs, it was difficult to unlock her hands. They almost cracked as she opened them. The sudden weight off her back was miraculous. Too stiff and exhausted to climb out of the passage hole, she stretched her arms through it like a baby reaching out for their parent. A strong pair of hands responded, grabbing hold of her forearms and lifting her out, out, out through the passage. Weightless, like a child. Like when her Dad used to lift her and place her on his shoulders.

The light was blinding, momentarily disorientating. It was Hagrid who had lifted her through the passage, and adults—staff and family—surrounded her in a panicking mess. The mirror of the passage had opened like a door, facing away from her so she was unable to see her reflection. She wondered how bad she must look, for they were panicking far more than she was.

"Rose, are yeh arligh'?"

She ignored Hagrid, or didn't hear him properly. The first thing Rose noticed was Albus' arm. "What happened to your arm?" she asked, moving toward Albus.

Through a singed hole in his sleeve, the flesh looked like exposed muscle and tendons. He was clenching his jaw, while Professor Longbottom moved his wand over the wound to very little effect, trying various spells under his breath. Hagrid was pulling the others out of the passage now.

Time was returning back to normal speed, then hurtling forward to catch up for the minutes it had slowed down in the passage. Everything was going very fast, and everyone seemed to be speaking at once.

"Rose, where are you hurt?" It was her Uncle Harry, gripping her shoulder tightly. His round spectacles emphasised the roundness of his eyes.

His son had been hurt, not her. She wasn't hurt, and she wasn't sure why he was asking, so he clarified further. "This blood, is any of it yours?"

"What?"

The other adults were crowded together now, repeating the question with urgency.

Scorpius was out, and the front of his shirt was spotted red. Meredith was in Hagrid's arms, limp, her pink hoodie almost burgundy with all the blood that had soaked through. A panic unlike anything Rose had ever felt surged through her body so that her extremities felt numb.

"Hagrid, get her up to the hospital wing."

"We need you three to tell us exactly what's happened."

Already, Meredith was being whisked away, down the hall, Hagrid's long legs covering the strip in seconds.

"A few of the other students have filled us in on all the details right on up to leaving you three with Meredith, but what happened after that?"

"Tell us while we walk," Harry said grimly. "Albus needs the hospital wing."

"The three of us were the last to go down to the cellar," Scorpius began, his voice unemotional. Cool. As if recounting what they had eaten for lunch. "Meredith's legs had been broken, so Rose carried her on her back. They heard us; it was impossible to get into the cellar undetected with Meredith. We managed to get onto the street before they caught up with us."

"The goblin who had taken our wands was the closest behind us—he fired a few curses. One of them hit my arm," Albus said, breathing through his teeth. "But he was having a hard time hitting us while we were running so he took out a knife and threw it."

"It got Meredith in the back," Scorpius supplied.

That's why they had fallen. That was the force that dislodged them. The weight that shifted as Albus kneeled down, pulling out the knife. They were almost at the Hospital Wing. Rose vaguely recognised the route, her legs carrying her along much like the conversation.

His breathing was laboured now, his face shining with sweat. "I took the knife out of her back and threw it back at the goblin—he was about a metre from me at that point. Hit him in the neck. As he fell, I took back all our wands—threw a wand to Scorpius."

"Rose and Albus went ahead," Scorpius continued. "I used a Protego Charm to keep off the other goblins. Then I collapsed the tunnel behind us."

Albus was grunting with the effort of not crying, his arm mangled tucked across his chest. She hadn't noticed in the dark of the tunnel. She hadn't noticed much of anything. Scorpius took hold of Albus' good hand and squeezed it tightly.

They pushed into the hospital wing. It was a chaotic mess of people; every bed was occupied; students had spilled onto the floor. Curtains had been drawn around one of the beds, and Hannah seemed to be done with whatever was happening behind it, because she came around the edge of it and then flung it shut again.

As she noticed Neville and Harry, she crossed directly to them.

"You'll need to contact her parents immediately. We have to arrange to have them brought here."

"She's muggleborn," Neville said.

"Oh, Heaven Almighty…" Hannah took in a deep breath and blew it out slowly, wisps of blonde hair blowing up over her forehead. "Well, someone has to get them. Albus, let me have a look at that. Neville, I need you to go get more pain relief elixirs."

They weren't helping Meredith. Which either meant she was fine, or she was dead.

"Where's Bellucci?"

"Brewing a vat of Blood-Replenishing Potion, but at this point…tell her it's better to just start making another cauldron of the Draught of Peace."

The curtain stayed closed. Hannah began ripping away Albus' sleeve.

So, she was dead.

The pounding in Rose's head was becoming more pronounced and her ears were beginning to ring.

"Scorpius, you and Rose need to drink these. They'll help the shock. Get yourselves cleaned up, then wait for me in the Headmaster's office. I should be there in the hour."

Rose was unable to understand the instructions; Scorpius took the phials and put them in the pocket of his trousers. Her vision was bleaching into greys and spots danced at the corners. Scorpius looped an arm around her. He said her name. So did Neville. They pressed into the corners of her vignetted vision until there was no more room for them to fit. Just black.

* * *

Scorpius absorbed himself with simple tasks. It took him a minute to recall the password for the Prefect's Bathroom, but when he had, Rose was coming to. He lowered his wand so that she no longer levitated behind her, gently letting her feet find the ground. He held an arm out to steady her.

"Are you okay? You fainted," he explained. "Rose? Never mind, we need to clean up. Do you feel confident to walk?"

She was walking, so he took that as a yes. He led her into the bathroom and shut the door behind them. The stained-glass window of the mermaid grooming her hair made Rose think of a cathedral with a kaleidoscope Madonna, and it wasn't until something caught her eye that Rose looked away, at the mirror across the room, and saw herself for the first time since that morning.

Scorpius absorbed himself with simple tasks. He immediately set to work turning on all the taps. In a sudden rush of sound, frothy water and aqua bath stones poured like cascades into the large tub. He had to do whatever it took to readjust the chaos into something digestible. Even if that just meant turning on taps. Every single tap, so that the bath soon looked like it would overflow. Over the gush of the water, he heard a sound that was difficult to describe—a choking, a retching. Alarmed, he spun around to find Rose clawing at her shirt, trying to get it off, cringing away from the mirrors. He understood why; she hadn't seen herself yet. She hadn't seen the blood matted into her red hair, that had soaked right through the back of her shirt. Meredith's blood.

She was just in shock, he told himself, and she wasn't going to die.

He crossed to her quickly and wrapped his arms as tightly as he could around her torso. "It's alright, it's alright," he said, over and over, but it was a lie and it wasn't alright. Her body shook so violently it was hard to hold her still. It felt as if she would literally dissolve in his arms if he didn't hold her tightly enough. Her sobs hit the air in echoes, sounds that should not have belonged to her.

He absorbed himself with simple tasks. Letting go of her, he fumbled clumsily for the phial he had been given in the Hospital Wing. With bloody fingernails, he uncorked the stopper and pressed it to her cracked lips. Her throat bucked once in response but he tilted her head back so she would swallow. The smell of the blood was making him nauseous, but he had to get Rose calm enough to clean up. He uncorked the second phial he had been given for himself and pressed it to her mouth again, forcing her to drink.

The potion went down quicker this time. She gulped painfully and then let out a string of hiccupping sighs, as if the tears were done. Her blue eyes were glassy. She stared at him in confusion as he licked the bottom of the phial clean, with a small pink cat's tongue. Tears leaked from his eyes, but he brushed them away.

"I'll leave while you get in the tub and I'll come back when you're done," he told her. Rose stared blankly at the bathtub, the foamy bubbles and scented soap. Maybe giving her both potions wasn't that great an idea.

"Did you hear me?"

No response from Rose now. Not talking or crying.

Scorpius extracted his wand and pointed it at the taps so they turned off with a little squeak. He sighed, and took the hem of her shirt, peeling it off over her head. Heavy from the blood, it fell to the floor with a slap. He helped her wiggle out of her jeans and kneeled down to pull off her shoes and socks. Her body looked bruised and her hair clotted. She shivered. The back of her white bra was stained pink. He noticed that she hadn't done the clip up properly, that only one hook was through the eye. It was such a stupid detail to notice.

She felt nothing now. Scorpius stared at her, his grey eyes despondent and probing. She didn't know what response he wanted from her. After a pause, he stripped off to his undergarments too. There was no embarrassment or timidness on his part. They were completely blank; these bodies didn't belong to them. How different this was to Christmas, she thought, when they had gone skinny-dipping in the frozen lake. Why had they laughed then?

"We need to clean up," he repeated her, wondering what those words even meant. He led her towards the bathtub, helped her climb in. Rose took a deep breath and sunk to the bottom of the tub. Scorpius knew too. Blood like this wouldn't wash off.

* * *

"Your nose is still broken," Albus said the moment he saw Scorpius outside of Headmaster's office. He took Scorpius' pointed chin between his thumb and forefinger and held his wand at eyelevel. " _Episkey._ "

He had arrived with Professor Bellucci beside him, who—for the first time perhaps in her life—looked completely ghastly. When she saw Albus perform the spell, she went into a flutter. "Oh, you should've let me do that," she said, examining Scorpius' straightened nose with some anxiety before realising there was nothing wrong with it.

Albus ignored her and instead turned to his cousin, offering a wand. "This is yours," he said, his face set. "Hannah is distributing the others."

Rose stared blankly at the wand. Scorpius sighed heavily and took it.

"What's the matter with her?"

"I gave her two phials of the Shock Reducing Remedy."

"It's not very wise to take multiple doses," Bellucci said, in her pained yet reproachful voice. Then, thinking better of this, she ran her long fingers over her dainty features and huffed in frustration, clearly upset at herself for acting reproachful. "I'm so sorry. I never should have left—I—I really can't tell you how sorry I am. Neville will be up shortly to chat with you three, but I need to go—I've been the one assigned to tell Miss Maxwell's parents of the...of this news."

"Then you _should_ go," Albus echoed curtly.

"Right, well. Albus, you'll need to drink a teaspoon of this potion twice a day and reapply this paste to your arm every hour," she said, hanging over a bottle and a tube. Albus tucked them into his pockets and nodded, turning away from her to face the door. He was done with her. Bellucci chewed her lip, something like remorse on her face, but then she left.

"What's happened to Meredith?" Rose asked, the words stirring something in the fog. The boys exchanged a heavy look. Scorpius wrapped his arm around Rose and led her into the Headmaster's office.

He smelt clean. Both he and Rose were in new clothes now. She didn't remember washing or getting dressed. She felt as if she was coming out of a fog. Albus was still in the grotty jumper he wore that day, one sleeve missing, with what looked like several large sprigs of Aloe leaf bandaged against his arm. Three seats were already arranged in the office, along with a wireless that sat on the desk, switched off. The portraits were all feigning sleep. Slowly, the three of them took a seat. Scorpius left his arm around Rose's shoulders.

"Did you have a chance to speak to your parents?" Scorpius asked Albus.

"Mum is with Lily and James right now and I didn't have much of a chance to talk to her. James went ballistic in the Hospital Wing. And I spoke to Dad for a bit, just to go over details—you know Drummond is dead?"

"Damn."

"Dad's been trying to figure out whether we can get back Hogsmeade but it looks like they've taken it. Apparently the whole street is mined. It was a good thing we _didn't_ try the back door or Honeyduke's cellar."

"But the school?"

"They're reinforcing security now. That's where Hermione was."

Rose took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Scorpius' arm stayed around her shoulder.

"So…you two?"

"For a while now."

"Right." Albus blanched. "You weren't planning on telling me?"

"We were planning on it today, in fact."

"What shitty timing."

"I know."

They sat in silence for a little while, staring at all the portraits that continued to snooze. Everything was so quiet and still, it was hard to imagine anything else happening in the castle. Behind them, the door opened, and they heard three people enter. Scorpius dropped his arm from Rose's shoulders—more out of habit than anything. They didn't turn around, but the three adults walked to stand in front of the Headmaster's heavy desk so they could face them.

For the first time in a little while, Rose's head felt clear. It was all three of their fathers. Harry, Ron and Draco. They all looked grim, grey, slightly older than they remembered them to be. All exhausted, but very calm.

"Sorry we kept you waiting," Harry said.

Rose couldn't help but wonder whether he meant just now, in this room, or whether he was apologising for leaving them in the Three Broomsticks for so many hours.

"We need to applaud you three," Harry said quietly, "for staying so cool under pressure."

They sat there in shock, a shock that did not leave them clammy or faint as it had earlier; one that left them immobile and stupid. Clearly Harry's words were not mirrored by all.

"You're _congratulating_ them? Typical," Draco snapped, gripping his cane in a trembling fist. "For what? Surviving?"

"Yes," Harry said, rather firmly. "And for fighting. What they did wasn't easy."

"What they did shouldn't have been necessary," Draco seethed. "I'm not sure what expectations you have of your children, but I want my son to be safe."

"That's not really an option anymore, is it?" Ron snapped. He turned back to the three students. "Hugo told us that they questioned you two separately. What happened?"

"We didn't tell them anything, if that's what you're worried about," Rose was brazen, even clipped. With the potion wearing off more and more quickly, her emotions were returning with some disorientation.

"They used the _Cruciatus Curse_ ," Albus added.

"Do you want to talk about that?"

"Well, neither of us are dead, so I don't see what we need to talk about."

"Scorpius, are you alright?" Harry asked, turning to him instead. "Apparently you attacked Romnuk when the others were being questioned."

"I'm fine," Scorpius said impassively. Then, he took a deep breath. "Well, we're not fine. None of us. But I'm not sure what answers you expect."

Harry nodded grimly at this, his face drawn with understanding.

"We know this must be very hard on you. We know you killed two goblins. You three experienced the very worst of this."

"I didn't," Rose said, shaking her head. Albus glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "I didn't even see anything, I had Meredith on my back the whole time."

Meredith had experienced the very worst of this and they hadn't even said her name yet. They hadn't even mentioned her name. Rose hadn't thrown any spells. She hadn't duelled. She hadn't dodged daggers or spells. She had just fled for their lives, and even there she had failed. Meredith was dead.

"Rose, we're sorry," her father said, his face so creased that it aged him several decades. "We never expected them to attack Hogsmeade. We tried to get into the building, but everything was too risky."

Once again, no response from their children. They sat in cold silence.

"By the time we were about to put a plan into place, Lily showed up. All we could do then was unseal the mirror passage," Ron explained. "To try anything else would mean disrupting Lily's chain of command."

As if Lily had authority. As if she was the one making the battle plans.

Harry rubbed his brow. "It shouldn't have been you three."

"Except it was," Albus said. "You should have _expected_ it to be. They wanted us for that reason."

"In fact, it makes perfect sense it was us three," Scorpius said.

Draco huffed, bringing his fingers to his temples. "No, it _doesn't_ , Scorpius. If you had just kept away from Potter and Weasley you never would have been caught up in this."

"That wouldn't be enough to stop me from becoming involved."

"I'm glad your mother and I have raised you to be somewhat more noble than we were, but that does not mean you must go _placing_ yourself in harm's way—"

"It does, actually. There is a prophecy."

This news charged the room with feeling, flipped the dynamics. Ron and Harry exchanged a meaningful look. Draco had to place his cane on the floor in order to support his weight. They were now the ones bristling, while the three teenagers sat quietly in a row, very young and very grave.

Harry hesitated. "What sort of prophecy?"

"The centaurs told us a calamity was coming, that death will find the innocent," Scorpius recalled with complete clarity.

"That's incredibly vague," Draco said.

His son cut across him, just as firm, glaring coldly at his father. "The heirs of a war-torn generation will lead a new battle. The children of former enemies will unite against a new adversary."

"They meant us," Albus added, exhaling slowly. "It's supposed to be us."

Harry shook his head and turned away, staring intently at the portrait of Dumbledore, who slept quietly in his frame, his half-moon glasses low on his crooked nose. All they could hear was the quiet mechanics of the clock.

"Now that we know that, we'll be sure that you three are prepared," he said.

They blanched. Again, it was not the response they expected. None of the outrage they were used to.

"For now, I think it's best you all rest. We'll send Uncle Neville up, he'll make sure you three don't have to sleep in your dorms tonight. I think you deserve some privacy."

There was a meaningful look shared. Draco opened his mouth to argue, and then shut it. The three fathers shuffled forward, hesitating. The air still stung with formality, as if this were a meeting.

The events of the day had swept in like a whirlwind; everything was still up in the air, nothing had settled. Harry grabbed Albus' shoulder tightly. Ron, looking drained and tearful, hugged Rose, who did not hug him back. Draco stared at his son before being the first to cross to the door.

Then, they were alone.

Rose flew out of her chair and Albus grabbed her arm tightly to stop her from leaving. She moved over to the fireplace and grabbed a handful of powder out of one of Drummond's jewelled boxes, dragging her cousin with her. Albus grabbed that arm too, grunting with the effort.

"So what?" she barked, straining against him. "They're just going to let us _fight_?"

"It's not as bad as it seems," Scorpius reasoned.

" _Not as bad_? When adults tell you that the outcome of a war rests on the shoulders of children, that's as bad as it gets!"

Albus and Rose were wrestling now. She jammed her elbow into his side but her cousin refused to let her go, even as he doubled over. He twisted her arm in his grip. Several of the portraits cried out in protest, no longer sleeping.

"You can't Floo out of here, Rose. All the Floo networks have been cut," Albus grunted.

Rose finally wrenched herself out of Albus' grip, the Floo Powder escaping her fist as it arced away from him. It rained down, fine glitter that coated the desk and floor like dust. She was trembling now, and Albus was in front of her with his arms outstretched, the way one might deal with an escaped animal. Scorpius had remained seated, his hands gripping his knees, but his face utterly still.

"This has been some kind of mistake." She began pacing. The office was too small for her, forcing her to bounce from one wall to the other in six swift steps. It was dizzying to watch. "We weren't even supposed to _be_ in that pub."

"The prophecy, Rose—"

"Oh, fuck the prophecy! Its _bollocks_ ," she spat vehemently. Her voice was climbing now. "A bunch of horseshit that had nothing to do with us."

" _You_ were the one who wanted to know what it meant," Scorpius told her in a low voice. "You were the one who was convinced it was about us."

She came to a stop, rooted to the spot, her fists clenched again. "Well, I don't want it to be about us anymore! I don't want any part of this anymore! I'm done!"

She grabbed hold of the floo powder box and smashed it as hard as she could on the stone floor. It shattered, jewels and metal scattering across the rug and the thick, green powder hitting the ground in a small mushroom cloud.

Professor Longbottom stood at the door, his arms crossed, watching them. Silence followed the small outburst. They didn't know how long he had been there. Rose crossed back to her chair and took a seat. Albus did the same.

Their professor held the door open and sighed. "Come on. Let's get you somewhere quiet and safe where you three can rest with privacy."

With some resentment, they all stood to follow, but they were no longer under the impression that they were safe. Not at Hogwarts, not anywhere. March had buckled under the weight of this one Hogsmeade weekend, and with it, any delusions of safety.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm taking a little break from doing my Honours research to finish a (really depressing) chapter ! Thank you for all your kind reviews, and for your patience. I did a quick proof read but excuse any typos, it's a long chapter.**

 **If you're feeling a little down after this, I will try to work some fluff into the following chapter. But expect a little angst also. Much love xx**


	18. Chapter Eighteen

—CHAPTER EIGHTEEN—

In the bleakness of that night, the sixth year girl's dormitory was a blistering, bitter wakefulness. No one slept. Estelle was sitting on the floor, her back to the dresser, braiding her hair; Sonia rested on her bed, knees under her chin, chewing a thumbnail; Isabella was staking out the door, peeking through it every time they heard rustling outside; Alice had drawn her hangings but her breathing suggested she was still awake. Rose's bed was empty. Rose was definitely back in the school—they were all back, the siege was over—but she wasn't in bed.

"I wish we had some news," Isabella groaned.

They heard Alice sigh through the curtains.

"I can't believe they put us in lockdown all day," Estelle said. "I don't see how being in our common room made the situation better."

Sonia took a break from gnawing her thumb to say, "I hope no one's hurt."

They had been repeating these same three lines over and over as the hours passed. It almost felt like a chant. Isabella stirred, peeking through the slit in the door, then relaxing against the doorjamb again.

"I was down there when they evacuated Hogsmeade," Sonia said, for the thousandth time. "I was in the post office. I saw Maxwell holding that waitress' head."

They didn't want her to describe the scene to them again, but they kept returning to this detail, because they had no other details to go off. Isabella dropped her face into her hands. Estelle observed her for a moment before curling her lip in disgust. She turned away and carefully took out her braid, running her fingers through her wet hair.

"I hope they're okay," Sonia offered again.

There was a scuffle outside. Isabella's head snapped up and she peer into the corridor. The door swung open. Zelda, their seventh year fag-master stood in the door, her feet in slippers shaped like nifflers. The girls all snapped to attention, stirring from their spots. Zelda's face bore bad news. It was the grim set of her mouth mismatched with the dread in her eyes. Isabella's hands jumped to her mouth and the other two girls let out a muffled groan.

"Meredith is dead," Zelda said, her face giving away nothing.

Alice's curtains snapped back. She was sitting bolt upright, her narrow eyes blotchy. The news seemed impossible, unreal.

"She's dead. She was stabbed by one of the goblins."

* * *

Since her mother had left her side that morning, Rose had not moved from her four-poster bed. Sleep had come in strange doses, muffling her grief in pockets of exhausted black. Still, even with the curtains drawn around her, the sun pierced through the crevices. It was not like the greenish, warbling light that came through her dormitory's subterranean windows, soft and muted by the water. Instead, this was clear and bright and painful.

The curtains around her bed were drawn back sharply, and Scorpius took a seat beside her. His silver-blonde hair was fluffy from sleep; it illuminated his face like a halo, angelic lips in a sourpuss pout.

"Your mum left a little while ago to work out where our boundaries have shifted. She didn't want to wake you. We had a chat as she left."

Rose hadn't really slept, so she had felt her mother kiss her head and slip from the mattress before the sun had cleared the horizon. Explaining this was too exhausting, so she pretended that this was news to her.

"Professor Longbottom said we can stay here until tomorrow," he added helpfully. "He offered to send someone down to collect some fresh clothes from our dorms."

They were in the Room of Runes, close to the North Tower, which was hardly ever used except for advanced seventh year Ancient Runes students. Professor Tate had quickly turned it into a more private sleeping quartes and had set up a password on the door that only their families and the staff knew. It was a warm room, with walls covered in long sheets of parchment, scribbled over with translated texts. Rose had taken the bed on the farthest right of the room, sheltered behind a bookcase filled with encyclopaedias, and had her mother stay the night with her. Now that the curtains were drawn, she could see that Albus' bed was empty.

Scorpius followed her stare. "He left about twenty minutes ago to get breakfast from the kitchens," he said, gesturing to the bed. "I suggested we could have an elf send it up but Albus seemed to want to stretch his legs."

For someone who once struggled to string small talk into coherent sentences, Scorpius was persisting like an expert. Rose sat up and pressed her face into his shoulder to make him stop. He did. Instead, he raised his hand and rested it in her thick, auburn curls. They stayed like that for a little while. Rose wasn't sure exactly what she felt but she was grateful he had stopped trying to explain everything to her.

Rose sighed heavily through her nose.

"You were…rather groggy yesterday, so I'm not sure how much you remember," Scorpius hesitated. "But Albus knows. I doubt he will make it public information after everything that's happened, but he is aware."

Stop talking, Rose silently requested. Stop. Talking. This was nonsense, utterly unimportant, there was no room inside her head to spare a thought to whether Albus knew or not. She pressed her face more tightly into his shoulder blade, which Scorpius must have mistaken for some form of fondness.

"I know that we are complicated," he said quietly, "and our lives are already complicated as it were with this prophecy, but I'm not going anywhere. No matter how thorny it gets, I will be on your side."

It wasn't really up to Scorpius though, and Rose knew that now. He could not make promises to remain by her side, to remain beside she and Albus. At any moment, he could be plucked from their sides and slain, cut down like a tree, put out like a light. There was no point to his promise.

He leaned back, holding her shoulders up to study her as if he was pinching a wet painting between his fingers. Rose groaned and tried to turn away from him, back to her pillow, but his thin hands were forceful.

"What? You haven't said a word since last night in the Headmaster's office."

Rose shook her head. Frustrated, she yanked herself away from him and began to bunch her frizzy hair up, wanting to tie it in a bun before realising she had no elastic. Scorpius leaned in again, his cherub lips frowning.

"Please. Tell me what you're thinking."

"I'm thinking," Rose said, letting her hair float down her back again, "that if you had never bought Meredith a broom, she wouldn't have been down in Hogsmeade."

Scorpius recoiled, as if Rose had slapped him.

"I'm thinking," she went on, "that I was against Meredith going down to Hogsmeade but you took _her_ side over mine. You took Bellucci's side over Longbottom's."

"Rose," Scorpius said softly.

The door behind them clicked at having received the password and opened again. Rose looked past Scorpius to see a woman enter, lissom and graceful, dressed in dark navy robes with her hair pulled back tightly into an elegant twist. She held herself straight-backed, like an iron rod had replaced her spine, and her skin was marble white, just like her son's.

"Scorpius," she said, drinking in the way her son perched on Rose's bed delicately, the way Rose was all knotted limbs. Then she cleared her throat ever so slightly, as if to readjust her tone. Her son did not turn to look at her, but kept his back to the door and his icy eyes on Rose's indignant face. "Please, Scorpius, I've wanted to have a word with you."

He held Rose's stare a second longer with his intense, probing eyes, then softly turned away. The moment their eye contact broke, Scorpius' face shifted into an impassive indifference that he greeted his mother with. He slipped from the bed, and then automatically combed his hair through with his fingers.

"Don't worry about that, it's fine, darling," his mother chided, beckoningly with her thin, dainty hands. Her wedding ring glistened on one of her fishbone fingers. "Come, let's talk awhile."

"Alright," Scorpius said, plodding along after her. But not before one, final, deliberate look over his shoulder back at Rose.

The moment the door was closed, Rose crashed back down onto her pillow thumping her forehead with a fist. He had been trying to reassure her, to rationalise what had happened. He hadn't said anything to spite her. It was cruel to accuse him the way she had, but she was surprised he hadn't yet accused himself. That he hadn't arrived at that same conclusion.

She wanted her mother back. She wanted to press her face back into her mother's full, warm chest and cry until she felt strung out. She wanted to be cradled and coddled like a baby.

The door opened again, and Rose looked up hopefully; but it wasn't her mum. It was Albus, his hands laden with a breakfast tray. He closed the door behind him with his knee, then came over to join his cousin. The tray was stacked with pancakes, pitchers of syrup and honey, bacon and fried eggs. Three glasses of pumpkin juices teetered as Albus set it down on her bed.

"Scorpius left?" Albus asked, glancing around. Rose shrugged, leaning against the headboard. The smell of the bacon made her feel nauseous.

"The elves are cooking like mad. All of Hogsmeade was evacuated last night and they're staying on the Castle grounds," Albus supplied, stabbing some of the bacon. "Merlin—this tastes so good."

Albus had a hard time eating the food sent up the night before, and after struggling through a few baked potatoes, vomited into the water jug. He clearly had no problem eating now, attacking the food as if famished. His arm had been redressed, the aloe leaves still tightly bound to his arm, which smelt like a strong antiseptic potion.

He pushed the pancakes towards Rose then looked at her very grimly, as if he was about to inform her that she had failed Advanced Potions.

"They're holding a memorial service tomorrow," he said. "By the lake."

She didn't say anything. Albus' concern was growing. "It's not a funeral exactly, but most of the school is going. I thought you should prepare yourself for that."

A memorial service. It was a bit early to start treating all of this like a memory, wasn't it? Rose took a bite out of one of the pancakes. The honey was sticky sweet on her tongue, making it hard to chew.

"There's no body to bury for Professor Drummond," Albus added. He set down his fork and knife, his face very pale. "Apparently, all of Hogsmeade has been mined. It was lucky we didn't try to get out through Honeyduke's cellar."

There had been nothing lucky about any of it. What were the chances of the Potter and Weasley children all being in the Three Broomsticks at once? What were the chances that Meredith, a second year, would be in the Three Broomsticks on the day of a terrorist attack? It had all been incredibly _un_ lucky.

If Albus had left the knife in Meredith's back, she never would have bled out. Every time she thought about it, it was almost like Rose could feel the knife lodge itself past her spine, between her lungs, hilt deep. Losing her appetite, Rose abandoned her half eaten pancake.

"I want to be alone, Al," she said, nudging the tray with her knee.

"Oh. Okay, sure. I'll just…eat over there, then," he said, gesturing vaguely to his bed. She didn't try to stop him. Hesitantly, he picked up the tray. "If you want any more food, just ask."

Rose sighed again heavily through her nose and pressed herself back into her pillow, mouth still cloying with the stickiness of the honey. It was too bright to try and sleep, even though her body groaned under the weight of her fatigue. It was for the first time that she understood the allure of The Draught of Living Death.

* * *

Meadows of wildflowers were beginning to bloom throughout March, turning Romania's countryside into speckled bouquets of Spring. The dragons spent much of their days in the sun, bellies up to the sky, drinking in the warmth. They may have been relaxed, but tensions were running incredibly high amongst the humans.

They had all received word that Kingsley Shacklebolt was dead. Charlie took this particularly hard and spent the rest of the day in his cabin, while the others worked sombrely on the Sanctuary grounds. Teddy spent the afternoon packing barrels with dragon dung, which would be shipped off as fertiliser. His arms and legs ached, the smell making his eyes water. But with everything that had happened since the New Year, it only seemed right to be knee deep in shit, hauling it away so it could be made into something useful. Maybe the pain and suffering they had all experience would one day grow something useful too. Maybe, eventually.

That night, when Victoire and Teddy returned to Charlie's cabin—too miserable to speak but walking hand in hand—they noticed several pairs of shoes beside the doormat. They both hesitated momentarily. A pair of dragon hide boots and a pair of sneakers with small radish-like vegetables attached to the shoelaces were among the bundle. Victoire slid her hand free to open the door.

Rolf was sitting opposite Charlie, his burly arms stretched across the table inside the cabin, his fingers grasping the other man's calloused hands.

"Oh, it's the kids," Rolf said, turning towards Victoire and Teddy. He did his best to muster up a smile but struggled. Usually all laughs and beaming, toothy grins, his face was uncharacteristically drawn and serious. As was Charlie's. A pot of tea had gone cold on the table between them.

"Who else has died?" Victoire demanded. One of the Weasleys, surely, by the look of their conversation. Maybe Molly, or Victoire's parents or her sister.

"None of your clan," Rolf reassured her. "A lot of people died. The Ministry and Gringotts have both fallen."

Teddy blinked in disbelief. He leaned back on the balls of his feet. "Wow," he said, then shook his head. "So…it's done."

"The bigger problem," Rolf said, his eyes darting back to Charlie's for a brief look of permission, "is that there was a siege at Hogsmeade and a Hogwarts student died. As did Drummond. And a bartender."

"Oh, Merlin. Drummond? Who was the student?"

"A muggleborn girl," Charlie supplied. "No one we know."

They both sighed with relief. A child was dead, but it was not a child they knew. It was not a child they had to mourn. It was a tragic but vital relief.

"Are they shutting the school down?"

Both men looked genuinely surprised. They shared a look before Charlie answered. "Who would shut it down, Victoire? There's no more government. And anyway, Hogwarts is one of the last strongholds left."

But none of these things seemed comprehensible. They had only ever lived in a time where governments _did_ exist. It would make more sense for the goblin rebels to seize power than it did to just tear down whole institutions, however broken they had become.

"We should've been there," Victoire seethed quietly. "They might've needed extra soldiers. If Harry hadn't so stupidly gotten us out of the country—"

"What's done is done," Rolf said sagely.

Before any more arguments could erupt, Charlie's bedroom door creaked open. Luna tiptoed through, shutting it quietly behind her. She was dressed in dark plum robes, her dirty blonde hair knotted up on top of her head.

"I think she should be fine with some rest. Oh, hello you two. Glad to see you've made it back from Australia."

Luna stared at them both with her large protruding eyes, making it seem like she was surprised to see them. She turned this same stare back on Charlie.

"Sorry again to drop in like this," Luna said dreamily, approaching the cold teapot and removing the lid to peer into it. "France has tricky laws regarding werewolves."

"You don't need to apologise," Charlie said. He heaved his way out of his chair and crossed to where Victoire and Teddy's packed bags sat. "Would you two mind staying in the village for a little while? Krishna and Adam said they have room at their new place."

Teddy's eyes were on the Charlie's bedroom door. He inched towards it.

"Who's here?"

"We'll talk about everything in the morning," Charlie said. "I think you two need to get settled."

They were being kicked out, as always. First exiled from the country, now banished from their accommodation. Forever a pair of rotating doors. Victoire bristled, but Teddy knew there was no point fighting them. They would get the rest of their answers when the time came. For now, he placed his hand on his wife's shoulder and used his wand to conjure up their bags.

It was some distance to the village but they didn't take the option to Apparate. Instead, they walked, both bags on Teddy's shoulders, wands lit. The moon was obscured by heavy cloud and the night air was cool and sweet. Victoire wound her arm around Teddy.

Victoire spoke quietly, her voice shaking, "I can't believe they tried to get rid of us when they knew a battle this big was coming."

"They had so many people fighting with them, Vic."

"I was the only one able to take down a dragon in our last skirmish," she retorted. "I'm a better dueller than most of our parents. I'm tired of them trying to protect us."

"That's not what this was."

Their feet continued to crunch the gravel. Victoire craned her head to look at her husband, catching his expression in the wandlight. Then, it was clear, in the set of his jaw and the sombreness of his eyes that he had worked it out before her. Teddy always had a way of putting the pieces together before she had, and ever since she had returned from her first trip to Romania, he measured whether or not he would share the puzzle's picture.

"What do you think it was?" she prodded softly.

"You'll hate this," Teddy sighed heavily. To atone for it, he took her hand. "Because it's my fault. I think the Order organised our Honeymoon not because of you but in spite of you." After a pregnant pause, Teddy continued, speaking with great care. "They know you're a good soldier, Vic. You're ruthless. It would be a loss not to have you there. But they also knew that you wouldn't let them separate us. They sent us away because Harry was certain I wouldn't fight."

"What?"

"I don't agree with either side of this war anymore. I don't agree with war in general."

"That's why you think they elaborately schemed to get us both out of the country?" Victoire said, her voice full of mock laughter. But he didn't play along. She uncoiled her arm, injured by his seriousness. The lights of the village were closer now, visible at the end of the road. Teddy shifted their bags on his back.

"This is what would happen," he replied, losing patience. "I would refuse to fight. Harry would worry that I would be swayed by the moral arguments of the rebels—which I wouldn't, by the way—but Harry won't trust me—you wouldn't trust me—don't deny it, you wouldn't. I would try to stop the goblins from killing Gladstone. I would also try to stop the Order from killing the goblins. And I would get in the way, and you would be forced to turn on me."

Finally getting a word in, Victoire pressed, "You really wouldn't kill Gladstone if you had a chance? Not after what he's done? Or Romnuk, who's tortured children and squibs? You wouldn't kill him?"

"I wouldn't—" Teddy's voice broke. "I _can't_. I can't kill anybody."

Victoire came to a stop. The light of a nearby tavern danced over her silvery hair and the sound of folk music was muffled from inside. Otherwise, it was quiet, the air punctuated with crickets.

"What if my life was on the line?"

"Don't test me like that," Teddy scolded, rolling his eyes. Suddenly, the weight of their bags felt too heavy for his shoulders, the straps burning into his collarbones. "I'd try to stop it, obviously. I wouldn't just stand by thinking, oh righto, please murder the most important person in my life."

Victoire grunted, crossing her arms.

"Look, I'm _sorry_ , Vic. Okay? I am not a soldier. I can't think like you do. I told Harry this at an Order meeting ages ago and he's seen it in action. I can't fight."

She nodded slowly, narrowing her eyes. She resumed walking, heading into the village, past the welcome sign. Teddy breathed out a heavy sigh and followed, returning to her side.

"I'd kill for you," she said quietly. "It's fine if you don't do the same for me. But I would definitely kill for you. I hope you can make your peace with that."

Teddy smiled wanly, tiredly, but warmly. "I'd die for you," he said, hiking her bag further up onto his shoulder. "If it helps, I would have no problem dying to save you."

She mused, "It helps."

Teddy leaned in and kissed Victoire gently, her lips soft and reproachful. When he leaned back, he also kissed the top of her head.

"Come on. I'll change into one of Krishna's ex-boyfriends and we'll give her a bit of a fright on her doorstep, shall we?"

"You always know how to make an entrance."

* * *

Hogwarts Library was lit by candlelight at night, and although it was not yet officially closed, it was entirely empty except for one person. Hermione sat huddled over a pile of books, head down, her bushy hair tucked into the back of her robes. She was scrawling her way across parchment at lightning speed, her mouth mumbling as she attempted to work out the kinks in the magic. She did not look up, even when there were creaks in the floorboards, or when the chair opposite her was dragged out from the desk she sat at.

"I should've guessed you'd be here," Ron said, placing his hands on the table. "When in doubt, you always came to the library."

Hermione raised one finger to ask him to pause as she continued with her muttering. She scratched her quill across the parchment. Ron waited patiently. The quill dropped to the paper followed by his wife's dramatic sigh.

"It's hopeless."

"I doubt it."

"No, it really is," Hermione heaved. It looked like half the library was stacked around her table, open chapters left abandoned. "With no central governing body, with no nation-wide charms in place, we've been left completely vulnerable. I cant' do what they're asking me to do, the magic just doesn't exist yet."

"Yet," he said, trying to be encouraging. Ron slid one of the book towards him in an attempt to be helpful, but once he saw the magic on the page, he slid it back towards Hermione. "You're the brightest witch of our age."

"I'm not _Merlin_. I can't just recreate magical boundaries." She began to list their concerns on each of her fingers. "We have an absolutely shoddy anti-Apparition charm on Diagon Alley but how long will that last? While we've put those Charms up, no one can Apparate in or out of those areas so we've effectively put our own people in a siege. If it weren't for the fact that Hogwarts has thousands of years of protective armour around it, it would've fallen too."

Hermione returned to her books, flicking through the pages agitatedly. Ron stared absentmindedly at an illustration of a wormhole in _Astronomic Insights, Interplanetary Phenomena Beyond The Wand._ The longer he started at the inked illustration, the more anxious he felt. It reminded him, disturbingly, of the Dementors. Their black, swirling cloaks and gaping mouths, sucking in everything to leave only despair. It had been years since he had felt that sort of hopelessness.

"How do the kids seem to you?" he asked.

Hugo seemed to be dealing with it well. He had stayed with Ron the night before in the hospital wing. He had spent the day with Lily in Hagrid's hut. He had cried the night before. He was talking about going to the memorial service. Rose, on the other hand, was hardly talking at all, something that was very unlike her. Although he was never particularly good at reading or dealing with emotions, Ron knew that whatever was going on in Rose's head was snared with anguish.

Hermione's mouth pinched at the corners. "They'll need time. Especially Rose. Don't you remember how Harry was after Cedric died?"

"A right bloody mess," Ron agreed sombrely.

Hermione's lip quivered. She returned to her books and cleared her throat.

"How do the goblins do it, with their kingdom?" she asked, her voice strained.

"Well, we were able to visit it, we just aren't able to find it on a map."

"To plot it!" Hermione burst out, slamming the book shut. "Ron, you're a genius! We need to make Hogwarts Unplottable."

Ron appraised his wife before slowly closing the book he had been leafing through.

"I know this will make you mad," he said, pushing the book towards her, "and I know I should just read _Hogwarts, A History_ for my own benefit, but I thought the Castle _was_ Unplottable."

"No, no, no. It's been Bewitched, so that if a Muggle saw it, they see a decaying ruin. But its very much Plottable."

"So, we make it Unplottable. It would just stop them from finding it on a map, wouldn't it?"

"Oh," Hermione said, deflating. "You're right, I suppose. And they already know it's near Hogsmeade..." Then her eyes lit up once more. "What about Grimmauld Place? Or the Room of Requirement? They both exist in a sort of extra-dimensional space, don't they?"

"Right, you've completely lost me, love, but go on."

"From the outside, they seem to just disappear," she snapped her fingers to illustrate the point. "But they still exist, just in a different space and time dimension."

"This sounds like Unspeakable stuff."

Hermione nodded enthusiastically and glanced at the book Ron had been reading. She dragged it back towards her, flicking past the wormhole chapter to find what she was looking for. "Do you think the worry will ever go away?"

Ron knew she was talking about their children again, even though she asked it in the same prim tone. It was the question she had asked him the day Rose first boarded the Hogwarts Express as an eleven year old. It didn't ever go away. Worry clung to them, revolved around them, burst inside of them like supernovas. It was worse than ever. It was the sort of worry that had mothers making clocks with her children's names on the hands, and the twelve o'clock mark reading Mortal Peril.

"This is how our parents must have felt."

"Well, my parents had no idea what was going on," she replied.

Ron nodded, running a hand over his long face.

"Look, I'm going to talk this over with Dumbledore's portrait to see if it could logistically be done. Would you mind checking on the kids before you find Harry?"

"How'd you know I'd go find Harry?"

"He's leaving to speak to the Muggle Prime Minister in the morning," Hermione said wryly.

She tugged her hands through her bushy hair and sighed, grief prickling the corners of her expression now that she wasn't occupied with magical problem solving. She picked up her wand and swished it grandly, sending the unneeded books back to their shelves. They sailed through the air like birds, their pages fluttering.

"Go with him, won't you? You know he hates feeling like he's the Minister. At least if you two go together…"

"He killed Gladstone," Ron said, placing both hands on the desk. Hermione's face twitched but she carefully settled it back into a solemn expression. He had to take back the weight of his words, adding, "he sees it that way. He killed Grigarex, too."

"Do you really think we could have stopped him?"

Ron shook his head. "He can't lead the Order, Hermione. The more responsibility that we heap onto him, the more he's going to drive himself off the rails."

"People expect him to lead, Ron."

"I spoke to Ginny about it and we both agreed. Being an Auror has only ever given Harry grief. Now with Kingsley gone…"

"Alright," she sighed. "Alright, we'll choose someone else to lead the Order. It's not important right this minute."

Ron stood and walked his way around the desk, leaning down to kiss the top of his wife's bushy head. Her hand reached out to grasp his.

"Go. Go where wizardkind has never gone," Ron said, unclasping her fingers. "I'll go check on the others."

* * *

As they prepared for a day of work, Krishna and Adam strapping into their gear, Teddy and Victoire kept the workbench's width between them. They had spent the night rehashing everything they had learned with the other two dragon keepers, piecing together the turmoil of the last few months.

"I'm working with the Antipodean Opaleyes today," Krishna said, strapping on her gloves. "Want to help?"

"Sure," Victoire said, welcoming the distraction. "I'd love to."

Teddy glanced up at her reproachfully but bit his tongue.

"Brill," Adam chuckled, "because Dragomir's built a harness and Charlie wants to try it out."

"Oh, come on," Teddy huffed. "That's sheer mad—"

His voice died in his throat as he saw who had stepped into the barn's doorway, her hand resting on the door. His eyes widened in disbelief. He dropped the gloves he was about to put on and headed to the door, his arms open wide for a hug but hesitantly dropping to his sides.

"Hey, stranger?"

Selima smiled painfully. Part of her face was scarred deeply with pockmarked craters. She reached forward to graze his chin gently with her fist. She looked more frail than ever, her cheeks gaunt and her head looking too heavy for her frame.

"How're the newly weds?" she said, gesturing to Victoire over Teddy's shoulder. Victoire smiled tightly. There was no denying she looked bad.

"You arrived with Luna and Rolf?" she asked.

"Well," with the ghost of a self-deprecating smile. "Those two are good at handling wild beasts."

Teddy reached forward to take her shoulder. "Don't," he said softly. He turned to the others to ask if they minded if he skived off work. No one objected, Adam pointing out that they could have magically shovelled dung—they only had Teddy do it manually to keep him busy.

"Cheers," he said, giving Adam the finger and a final imploring look to Victoire. "Be careful, love."

"Always and never," Victoire said, waving him off.

It was completely wrong to find Selima in Romania, under the hot sun and the cloudless sky. She looked as utterly out of place as Teddy felt. She reached out with thin hands to touch the tattoo on the back of Teddy's neck, the cycling moon she had inked there.

"What happened to your face?"

She touched her cheek and sighed. "The goblin militia, before they turned on Gladstone. They found all the werewolves. I was the only one who got away."

Teddy reached forward to run his fingers over Selima's face. It was horribly scarred. He found himself thinking of Ralph's face, but then his gut twisted. If what she said was true, Ralph was dead.

"They're cursed wounds," Selima added. "Just like my bites."

They walked for a little while in silence, Teddy leading. Although Selima occasionally paused to peer into the dragon enclosures, Teddy kept moving. There was one particular place he wanted to take her. Finally, they reached it. The largest and furthest of the pens. An enormous Ukrainian Ironbelly lazed by a stream, his scarred snout resting by the water. He was gentle, not from his temperament, but due to his exhaustion. There was no fight in him. The water burbled peacefully from their distance but as they came to a stop, the dragon's large head turned blindly in their direction, sniffing the air with curiosity. Selima tilted her head and sighed.

"Wow. Now that's a beast."

"Why'd you come here of all places?" Teddy asked.

"Luna's been settling refugees in France, but they won't take a werewolf," she replied dully. "Especially not one that looks like me."

She gestured at her mutilated face, her ragged dreadlocks, her scarred arms and intricate tattoos. With a humourless laugh, she shook her hair off her shoulders. "I don't pass as a normal citizen."

"Who decides what's normal anyway?" Teddy muttered bitterly.

They stood watching the great, winged giant for a while, the mountains glistening behind it in the early light. Teddy wrapped his arm around Selima's shoulders.

"I don't know who was making Potions for Gladstone's government," Selima said quietly. "But I resent them for giving me a taste of the Wolfsbane. Living without it now doesn't even feel like living."

"There'll be a cure one day."

She shook her head. The shadows threw the pockmarks into sharp relief. "Gladstone figured out the cure. There's no more werewolves in Britain, Teddy. I was the last. Soon, we will have gone extinct and everyone will be better for it."

With candour, Teddy opened his mouth to argue but never had a chance. The Ironbelly lifted his head again, this time to listen. Somewhere close by, there was a roar. Then, an alarm sounded.

"Shit," Teddy muttered. "Let's go."

He burst into a sprint, Selima keeping up alongside him, following the sound of the dragon's roars. The grounds sloped downhill dramatically, propelling their pace. They skidded desperately to a stop at the end of a valley.

"Oh, _blimey_."

One of the Opaleyes was straining against ropes attached to his legs, which were attempting to keep him earthbound. Sylvia and Dragomir clutched the binds from either side of the enclosure. The dragon launched up, wings spread and struggling to gain height. A saddle was half tied to his back, Charlie Weasley clinging to it.

"Get one of the darts," Adam yelled. Krishna dived under the enclosure's gate, sprinting past Teddy towards a metal safety box attached to the fence.

"No!" Charlie bellowed, holding on precariously as the dragon bucked back and forth. "If you put a dart in him now he'll never trust us again!"

"He doesn't look like he trusts you all that much now," Krishna called back.

"I _told_ you the saddle was a bad idea!" Sylvia roared, almost as fierce as the dragon.

Victoire withdrew her wand and sent a red flare up above her head. Then, with a smooth movement like she was about to crack a whip, she transfigured a branch into another long, thick rope. With a quick lasso, she sent it up around one of the large horns that protruded from the dragon's neck.

"Do not be stupid, Victoire," Dragomir warned, tugging at her rope.

Teddy felt his heart leap into his throat. Victoire gripped her rope, then shot her wand at the ground, using the spell to launch herself into a graceful vault. The rope slackened as she arced above the dragon's neck, then she landed like a cat between two of the spikes on the dragon's neck.

"Are you _mental_?" Adam screamed.

"Get the harness _off_ ," she insisted, gesturing at Charlie.

Mortified, Krishna abandoned the emergency kit and sprinted back into the valley. She conjured up a cushioning charm on the mossy floor while Charlie unstrapped the saddle, falling off the dragon's hide with it. He fell onto the charm with an oomph, but the beast continued to struggle, distressed from the saddle and unfastened muzzle. Victoire straddled his neck with her legs, leaning down so her cheek brushed its scaly throat and gripped the ivory spike. Teddy's hands leapt to the top of his very red hair. Victoire released the spike and used her wand to cut the ropes. Both Sylvia and Dragomir shrieked, falling back with the slack, their faces wild with terror.

Freed, the dragon soared to the very top of the enclosure, wheeling once around the enchanted bubble of the ceiling, Victoire's legs tightly gripping its neck. It completed its full circle elegantly before slowly batting its wings in landing, shuffling its wings to make sure it was free. It landed on the far side of the valley, lowering its neck gently to let Victoire slide off.

Teddy dropped his hands from his head and sighed with relief. Selima grinned and slowly began to clap. After a moment, Charlie followed suit. The others stared at her, flabbergasted.

"That girl is fearless," Selima said, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Yeah," Teddy said, his heart thumping. "She is."

* * *

Albus' hand hesitated as it reached for Rose and then dropped. Her back was still to him; she was not dressed.

"Do you…want to come?" he asked, taking it for granted that he had just assumed she would. "Roxanne organised the wreaths."

Still, Rose said nothing.

"You can't stay up here forever."

"I know," she said. "I'll meet you down there."

But it was hard to imagine it. Rose hadn't left the Room of Runes since they arrived two days before. Worry clawed at her cousin, but he couldn't put it into words. He was afraid she would stay in this room, but even more frightened that she would leave it.

"Alright…well, I'll see you down there with Scorpius."

Albus paused to fix his black robes, turned to check whether Rose had moved, then left to attend the funeral.

* * *

Rose was wearing her school robes. Someone had been sent to collect them for her, but whoever it was had not had the foresight to bring up any shoes. All she had were her scuffed, red sneakers—still dusty from the tunnels they had traversed, laces frayed and tattered. She put them on. Bending over to do the laces made her whole body ache the way an old woman's would.

She had purposely delayed leaving, not wanting to collide with the crowds and risk the chance of conversation. The halls were ghostly in their emptiness. For two days, she had felt the entire school throbbing with rumours and talk, pushing against the secret doorway to the Room of Runes. But there was no throbbing pulse to the school. Everyone was outside, by the lake. She was already in the North Tower. It was a short detour to the Astronomy Tower, and from the very edge of the rampart, she could see the whole school down by the lake.

They shuffled, moving like ants in a swarm. The surface of the lake shivered in the breeze. It was very high, and they looked very, very small. She took a few steps away from the edge, her head spinning.

She would arrive just as the wreaths were laid, she decided. That way, no questions asked. No speeches bequeathed. It was with this promise to herself that she left the tower.

As she descended the staircase to the entrance chamber, she felt guilt churn in her guts.

It was like a premonition. At the bottom of the stairs stood a short, pudgy woman beside a bespeckled man, both of whom looked utterly out of place and were streaked with tears. Grief rolled off them like salty waves, smashing against the rock of guilt that had settled in Rose's stomach. Horror climbed its way up her body, digging into her skin.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, it's set up just through here," a voice said, and she recognised it a moment later as Professor Bellucci's. She came to a halt outside one of the chambers connected with the Great Hall. Her dark black robes washed her out. When she saw Rose, her face paled even still.

"Rose," Meredith's mum said, her lip quivering.

Oh, no, Rose thought. Anywhere. She would rather be anywhere else.

Meredith's mother took several steps forward and engulfed Rose in a hug, her doughy arms squeezing her tight around the middle as she began to sob. Rose froze, unable to move her arms or say anything like she was supposed to. She did not deserve this hug. She had no room to carry their grief when she was already so heavy with her guilt.

Over Mrs Maxwell's shoulder, Rose briefly looked at a stricken Bellucci for intervention or explanation. "They're here to collect Meredith," she said, her hands uncharacteristically clasped together. "We've had to set up a secured Port Key."

"We know that you were the one to carry her out of the pub," Mr Maxwell said, pursing his lips into an unsteady line. He removed his glasses and wiped at them. "Thank you, Rose. You meant a lot to her."

"She wrote about you in all her letters," her mother sobbed, still clinging onto Rose. "All—her—letters—"

"We always thought she was safe here," Mr Maxwell said. "We didn't think terrorism existed in this world."

Mrs Maxwell released Rose, her face swollen and tear streaked. Her eyes were the same as her daughter's. Earnest eyes that showed every overwhelming emotion. Like Meredith had, she clung to Rose still, her hands clutching her shoulders.

"Would you like to see her, before we leave?"

"No. Sorry but I—I don't want to."

Even Bellucci winced at how abrupt her response sounded.

"That's quite alright," Mr Maxwell said, returning his glasses to the bridge of his mousy nose. "Remember her bouncing with life. That's what she would've have wanted."

Rose nodded wordlessly. They both hugged her, again, giving her excruciating words of thanks, wishing her safety and telling her that she would stay in their prayers. Rose nodded through it all until they had disappeared with Bellucci into chamber, where Meredith's small body waited to be taken home.

She would be buried among muggles. Meredith would have hated being buried among muggles when she was aware of the magic that existed out there.

The memorial service would have almost ended by now. Rose rushed out of the Great Hall and stood for a moment in the glare of the overcast light, seeing the swarm of black down by the lake. Then, she teetered off the steps and headed towards the side of the castle, out of sight, where she doubled over and vomited into the grass.

Her body heaved with its attempts to reject the truth. She couldn't accept that Meredith was dead.

* * *

"So, classes are suspended indefinitely," Imogen said, slipping into line beside Zabini. "Not that you'd really care."

"It surprises me that you do."

"I wouldn't mind some normalcy."

Her eyes scouted the Great Hall, once again. The entire population of Hogsmeade and the complete student body were seated along the tables. The House banners had been charmed black. No one was adhering to House divisions. Siblings were sitting together; friends form different Houses were crying on each other's shoulders. Those whose parents lived in Hogsmeade were gathering in family hubs. It was crowded, and the breakfast supplies had been ravished. Almost everyone wore black, or at least dark colours, preparing for the service. She had a final look over the echoing room before turning her attention to her boyfriend.

"Malfoy didn't come back to your dorm last night?"

"No," Zabini said, stirring his porridge. "Maybe he's still in the Hospital Wing."

He wasn't. Imogen had already dropped by to ask. Not so much in concern for Malfoy—she had just wanted to know. Whether they were all okay.

"Shit like this is fucked up," Zabini said, glaring into his bowl of porridge.

"Yeah."

"I should be more upset," he added. "But I just…don't feel anything."

"It's the shock."

"No, it's not."

He glanced up briefly, his full lips pursed into a frown, but his eyes dropped back down a second later.

Imogen turned back to her own breakfast. She didn't feel sad, either. The emotion dominating her attention was guilt. When a third year came sprinting down the hallway to announce the news, to tell them the school was in lockdown, that a bunch of kids were being held hostage in a Hogsmeade siege, all she felt was guilt. Because when Albus Potter had been tortured with the Cruciatus, Imogen had been shagging Zabini in the disused bathroom on the seventh floor. When Professor Drummond had his head blown to smithereens, she was having an orgasm. And somehow, that seemed really shitty.

People were beginning to push towards the doors. It was almost ten o'clock and the memorial service was due to start soon. Imogen sighed heavily, tugging at her black school robes so they sat straight.

"Are you ready?" Zabini asked.

She nodded mutely and stood.

The day was overcast, the sun teasing between the thick clouds. Tents and canvases had been pitched near the greenhouses, the accommodation that Hagrid and the other staff had set up for the evacuated villagers. They headed down the sloping lawn towards the lake, a huge mass of people all in black. Imogen kept scanning the crowd, her eyes darting from face to face, searching for a head of black messy hair that stuck up in every direction.

They all lined up along the riverbank. Meredith's body wasn't there, which was a relief. She had heard that there was nothing left of Drummond to entomb. Instead, a marble plaque now stood with both his and Meredith's names elegantly carved into its surface.

A hush fell over the crowd as Professor Longbottom stepped up beside the monument to officiate the service. He looked haggard. For the first time, the grey in the growth of his face made him look old, and not in the appealing way that got the girls talking. He raised his wand to amplify his voice.

"In the course of the siege, Hogwarts' not only lost a Headmaster, but also a student. This is a time of war, of senseless suffering. More then ever, we must come together in solidarity. We must strive for peace. We cannot forget…"

Imogen was not the sort of girl who giggled with girlfriends or mucked around with mates. She didn't have girlfriends or mates. In that same vein, she was not the sort of girl to cry during the deputy headmaster's address.

She never denied herself pleasure, she often felt satisfied. But she was not one to lament the passing of good times. She wasn't really sure what certified as good times. Her mother was incredibly sentimental and soppy, throwing herself after men and doing girl's nights out with hawkish, bottle blonde women in their thirties. Imogen had never been that way. Like all the boyfriends who charmed then broke her mother's heart, Imogen did not expect the good times to stick around. You were supposed to enjoy what was there while it was there, then let it go.

"I hate funerals," Imogen muttered.

Zabini took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

Down near the front of the assembly, she could see Albus Potter. Her heart gave a skip in her chest. He was standing beside his younger sister Lily and his cousins, Hugo, Roxanne and Louis, were in the same row. Imogen had tuned out whatever Professor Longbottom was saying, but his words seemed to be moving Albus to tears. He bowed his head, his sleeve moving to his eyes. His sister snaked her arm around his shoulders. With a deep sigh, Imogen turned her attention back to Longbottom.

"There are no clear sides to this war. This is no clear enemy. The centuries-old conflict between goblins and wizards is one of rivalry and revenge, but all these things do is feed a chain of hatred and destruction. We must give up our rivalry and revenge. Our only defence now is to come together with unity, with love, with peace. Remember the spirit of Professor Drummond, a man who had courage without consequence. And remember the spirit of Meredith Maxwell, a girl who believed that magic was hope. As we enter dark and difficult times, carry their spirits with you always."

* * *

"It is time for the laying of the wreaths," Professor Sharma said into her wand. She gestured towards the front row.

Albus looked around once more. Neither of them had come. Scorpius wasn't there. He turned his eyes backwards and upwards, searching desperately for either of them. He had thought, bizarrely, that he spotted Rose standing at the Astronomy Tower. But whether it was her he would never know for sure, because a moment later, the flash of red hair was gone.

He gulped down his breath and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. Roxanne and Lysander were the first to approach the monument, laying a beautiful wreath of white lilies against it.

Albus looked around once more, his blood-shot green eyes scouring the crowd, but he didn't see either of them. Hugo and Lily stepped up with their own wreath.

Taking another deep breath, Albus followed after them. He laid his wreath on the monument, bending his head as he caught his breath. It was just stone now. There were no bodies to act as witnesses of the horror—Meredith's body had been returned to her parents, Drummond's body had been vaporised, Carletta's body was still with the Kobold Könige and the goblin he had stabbed had been left in Hogsmeade. The cool, engraved marble was merely a reminder of death, a symbol of it, neatly and smoothly packaged. It was supposed to offer him acceptance.

But Albus still smelt the stench of blood. He still saw the severed neck, the broken legs, the sticky wrench of the knife coming out of a back. He saw his own arm turned inside out, still aching from the curse. He now knew the materiality of death. He had been confronted by it and it has destroyed the order of meaning, the peace of understanding. No matter whether you were goblin or human, you were blood and guts and dust.

With the entire school behind him, with all of Hogsmeade in the crowd, he took his wand from the pocket of his robes and directed it over the monument, towards the quietly lapping lake. A simple charm, a small circle of the wrist, and a little beam of light danced across the water, doubling itself in the rippling reflection.

From behind him, another small beam joined the second. Then another. Soon, a whole sea of stars floated along the surface of the lake, shimmering like pearls. Everyone was silent, their wands raised.

Then, the lights faded.

Albus took his place back in the crowd.

* * *

Lorcan Scamander's eyes were bloodshot, his nose blotchy. It made his cleft chin look weaker, stealing some of the boldness from his features. There was also evidence that Lily Potter, resting beside him, had been crying too. Her brown eyes were dry, but her nose was rough and red from all the tissues. Lorcan was sitting on the bleachers, Lily lying across one horizontally, her shoes resting on his thigh, staring up at the overcast sky. The Quidditch pitch was empty, impressively curved and lonely without anyone on it.

"James is never going to go back to normal, is he?" Lorcan asked, his voice quivering.

Lily didn't say anything at first. Following the funeral, they had visited James in the Hospital Wing. Hannah was refusing to sedate him with potions and had said he was only allowed to leave the Wing once he had come to terms with his trauma. The night before, when his cousins suggested he go to the memorial service, he threw a fit and set the curtains aflame. Since, Hannah had his hands magically restrained. But sedation was still not an option.

"He'll go back to normal," Lily said, her voice steely with determination. She rubbed at her blotchy eye. "Mum and dad should be coming back in a day or two and they'll know how to handle it."

"My parents are still out of the country," Lorcan said miserably.

Lily tilted her head to the side so her wet cheek rested on the bench, her brown eyes on Lorcan. Lorcan took a shaky breath and looked down at her.

"I'm used to it," he said, attempting for his usually bravado. "They used to travel all the time for their magizoology research. Now I guess they're smuggling refugees out of the country, but what difference does that make to me? And Lysander is in the Ravenclaw common room and we hardly even speak."

"It must be hard, having your siblings split up," Lily said sadly.

"Nah. James used to be more of a brother to me then my own twin. James was my…"

Lily sat up, straddling the bench. She leaned forward and grasped Lorcan's broad shoulder as it began to shake. His face dropped into his hands, trapping the despair under his fingers.

"You have a family, Lorcan," she said, fiery as ever. "Lysander is still your family. James is still your brother. We are your family, no matter what."

"What if he never goes back to normal?" Lorcan sobbed.

Lily wrapped her small, lean arms around his shoulders.

* * *

Hugo was splayed on the common room carpet, opposite Angus Finnigan, a chessboard between them. The pieces shuffled uncomfortably on their squares, aware of the sombreness of Gryffindor Tower. Hugo ushered his bishop across two squares to take a pawn. He watched the slender ivory piece smash Finnigan's pawn across the board as if it were nothing. Which it was.

"I can't believe you're playing a game like this now, of all times," Roxanne muttered, looking up from a Transfiguration book.

"I can't believe you're doing homework," Hugo replied sullenly. "Classes are suspended."

The Head Girl stared at him a moment before snapping the book shut and laying it aside. She watched Finnigan play out his countermove. They were all just doing things. The last few days had been about running through mindless motions.

"It's all really happening, isn't it?" Roxanne murmured.

Albus thundered down the boy's dormitory staircase, checking his watch with agitation.

"It'll be time for lunch soon," he said. "I haven't seen Rose or Scorpius all morning."

"You'd think they'd want to pay their respects to Meredith," Roxanne chided. "I thought maybe Rose was standing up the back but I couldn't spot her anywhere."

"Maybe they stayed in the dungeons," Hugo said quietly. He watched his knight get dragged off the board by Angus' rook. "I don't think Rose was ready to face a funeral."

"Has she said anything to you?"

Hugo shook his head before ordering his queen to Check Mate Finnigan. It was a violent exchange between the two pieces, but the King was forced to relinquish his crown. Satisfied, Hugo returned his attention to Albus. His eyes were brooding.

"Mum said she'll need time, but she hasn't really eaten or slept or talked to anyone since you three got to the Hospital Wing."

"Rose has kept her mouth shut for two whole days?" Roxanne replied. "I didn't think anything would stop that girl from eating or talking."

"Cut her some slack," Angus snapped, gathering together all his pawns. "Someone she cared about just died."

They all fell silent. Albus nodded fretfully. He headed for the portrait hole. "I'm going to go check if they've turned up for lunch."

* * *

Early that afternoon, huddled under one of the arches in the viaduct courtyard, Alice Lim sat bunched in her robes, her green scarf wrapped tightly around her snotty, tear-streaked face. When the castle was this populated and there were no classes on, it was hard to find a solitary place to cry.

It was to Jonathan Sterling's bad luck that he happened to approach her with some empathy.

"Just get out of here, Sterling! Isn't – isn't –isn't it _palpable_ that I want to be alone!"

He stood there for a moment, his hand still proffered in concern and his mouth agape.

"I was just checking…"

"I don't want your _sympathy_ ," she spat. "I want to be alone."

"Alice," he said quietly, trying again to place his hand on her shoulder. "I get it. I lost a teammate, too—"

" _Go!_ " she shrieked in a teary fury. Jonathan didn't need to be told twice. Alice buried her face in her scarf and continued to cry, her ribs aching. When she felt another hand take her shoulder, she almost lashed out with her fist.

"Oi, pull yourself together," Albus snapped, reeling back. Alice stared at him in surprise, her red eyes stinging. The Gryffindor's face was uncharacteristically hard and furrowed. "Sorry to bother you at all Lim, but have you seen Rose?"

"What?" she barked.

"Around your common room?"

"I'm not speaking to Rose," she spat, wiping at her eyes. "And anyway, wasn't she staying in some private chamber with _you_?"

"You know what, never mind," Albus said, darting past her. "Oi! Zabini!"

He turned, Imogen also glancing behind her. They were leaving the viaduct for the entrance hall. Imogen stared at Albus with some perplexity, but he hadn't the time to interpret her look. His eyes were on the perfectly haughty features of André Zabini.

"Potter."

"Have you seen Scorpius or Rose?" he asked, getting right to the point.

"No, I haven't," Zabini replied, raising his eyebrows. "Why are you asking?"

"I can't find either of them anywhere and I have a bad feeling about it."

Zabini's amber eyes narrowed. It was the closest Albus had ever seen him to genuine concern.

"You know, they might just be off somewhere together. They're…well, they were—"

"Yeah, I know," Albus said, brushing this aside. "If they are together, I don't think either of them are in the frame of mind to talk things out. Rose is in a dark place right now. She's been looking for someone to blame for this."

"What, you think they've tried to get back into Hogsmeade and seek revenge?" Imogen snorted.

Albus' face remained solemn. Imogen's eyes widened slightly.

"You don't think they—that they really have done that?"

"Scorpius would never," Zabini cut in. "They'd be more likely to enter a suicide pact then go into Hogsmeade after that siege."

This thought was not particularly comforting either.

"Let's go tell Professor Longbottom," Albus decided. "I think we need a proper search of the school."

"Merlin, don't go jumping to conclusions—"

"Do I _look_ like someone who's jumping to conclusions?" he snarled. He turned to face Imogen instead. "Are you coming with me, or not?"

* * *

They were nowhere to be found. The hours were ticking by and the prefect body was getting anxious in their search. The Ravenclaw partners had searched all the towers, from the Astronomy to the Owlery. The Hufflepuff were combing the grounds and the greenhouses in pairs. The Slytherin prefects had checked the entirety of dungeons and their common room and the Gryffindors were searching the upper levels of the school. All the staff were roaming, checking every classroom and broom closet. The longer it went that they were missing, the more the urgency built.

Imogen and Albus left the empty library. It had been the only place they hadn't checked. With a huff, Imogen headed back towards the stairs, suggesting they visit the clock tower to get a bird's eye view of the school. At least they may be able to spot Rose or Scorpius from a distance if they were on the grounds. Albus plodded along silently behind her. He had been very quiet during the whole search, even though they had been at it for an hour. The only thing he had said, in a half indistinguishable mutter, was that they were the most melodramatic couple to ever date since Teddy Lupin and Victoire Weasley first got into the papers.

They both came to a halt as they reached the clock tower entrance. The enormous pendulum swung, back and forth, repetitive and rhythmic and surprisingly soothing. A single girl stood by the window, looking out onto the grounds.

"Oi, Nott," Imogen said, walking towards her. Sometimes she wasn't even sure why she engaged people, if only because she wanted to be amused. Isabella Nott turned around, her eyes wide and teary, yet still rimmed with mascara. She sniffed, turning to look back out the window, where the black lake was visible. Imogen came to stand behind her, resting her hip against the glass. The grounds near the forest now bloomed with tents. Wizards and witches buzzed around the border of the forest.

"Seen them?" Imogen asked.

"Who?" Isabella asked, wiping her nose on the corner of her sleeve.

"Any of them. Scorpius? Rose?"

Isabella shook her head.

Imogen could feel her temper shortening, perhaps because Albus had run out of the energy to shout at people and she needed to take up the task for him. "You've heard that we're _searching_ for them, haven't you?" Still, nothing but a pathetic, watery expression. "Aren't you mates with them?"

"I was planning to go to Hogsmeade," Isabella said. Her voice was thick with tears. "I was supposed to be down there. I was running late because—because I was being an idiot. And by the time I was getting into a carriage, they were shutting the gates."

This was her confession, but she had chosen the wrong person to confide in. Imogen didn't care. "Count your lucky stars, I suppose?"

"You don't understand. I was _supposed_ to be down there, I was supposed to be meeting someone in the Three Broomsticks. It could've been me."

The pendulum swung, bouncing these words back and forth with it. Imogen stared at the Slytherin in disbelief. The longer she stared, the angrier she felt.

"Except it _wasn't_ you," Albus said, more bluntly than he intended. He strode towards Isabella, his fists squeezed tight. She jumped when she realised he was there. "So I don't see why you need to make it about you. You're wasting our time."

Isabella bit her lip. She pressed her head against the windowpane and closed her eyes. "You're right." The clock ticked on above them, relentlessly, marching forward with little concern for anything other than progress. "I wish I wasn't such a narcissist."

Imogen rolled her eyes. "Well, put that wish into action and help us look, won't you?"

"Seriously, Nott! What's wrong with you? Go report to one of the teachers. Go _look_ for them!"

"Oh—right. I'll—I'll go search for her," Isabella said, seeming to come to her senses. She wiped her nose on her sleeve. "They're probably in the dorm together. I'll check."

"Yes, go do that," Albus said coldly. He watched Isabella scurry away, wiping her eyes on the corner of her robes. He turned to Imogen for the first time all day with a proper look. "She drives me mental, that one does."

"I can understand why."

Albus returned his attention to the window.

"I don't think we'll spot her, even from here," he said, squinting down at the grounds. "There's too many people—wait. Oh, Merlin, why didn't I think of it! Sorry, Midge, I've gotta go!"

He sprinted back down the stairs, calling his apologises with his back already turned.

* * *

Isabella pounded her way across the plush, Persian carpet. She had been so wrapped up in herself that she had, as always, failed to look after the people she cared about most. She pelted down the boy's dormitory staircase and collided head first with Zabini.

"Scorpius," she gasped clutching at her forehead.

"He's not in the dormitory and neither is Rose," he said, then he moved past her smoothly towards the common room.

It didn't matter; Isabella tore her way into the sixth year's bedroom—empty, beds unmade, except for Scorpius' perfectly fitted sheets. She took back down the hall again, skidding into the communal bathrooms.

* * *

Albus unfurled the Marauder's Map across the teacher's staff table. Neville leaned over it, his eyes widening in wonder.

"Right, this is Harry's map."

"I just got it out of James' trunk." Albus' eyes darted from dot to dot, his tongue between his teeth. "The only place they won't show up is the Room of Requirement and Professor Tate was able to get inside so they aren't—there! Scorpius," he said, his thumb finding the dot.

* * *

There he was, pale and impassive, silver blond hair pushed away from his eyes. His fingernails were dirty with the familiar grime of potions ingredients and he was carefully washing them clean in the sink.

"Oh, thank _Merlin_ ," Isabella gasped, clutching at her chest. Scorpius looked up at her, not expressing any shock. He switched the tap off with a squeak.

"This is the men's lavatory, Belle."

"Where the hell have you _been?_ You didn't come to the funeral and then you went _missing_ ," she snapped. Albus Potter's outrage was contagious. "Where's Rose?"

"I needed some time to think, alright? It's none of your business—what do you mean, where's Rose?"

"She's…she's not with you?"

They both stood opposite each other, the horror of this dawning in the empty chamber. Alarm rippled across Scorpius' cool expression.

"Rose left with Albus this morning to attend the service. He went to go get her."

"She never came," Isabella breathed. "And if she isn't with _you_. Oh…"

* * *

"He's with Nott in Slytherin's bathrooms," Albus said, his face falling a little. His eyes continued to scan the Map. Professor Longbottom leaned in closer.

"Amazing," the Professor acknowledged, his eyes wide as the dots continued to spread across the parchment like ants. "Every living human in Hogwarts is right here, on paper."

"I don't...I don't see her anywhere, Professor."

"Are you sure?"

"Check yourself. She isn't on here."

"Merlin," Neville muttered, his face dropping as he scanned the dots. "Ron and Hermione are due back in a few hours. What am I going to…"

"Hold on," Albus said, his eyes still on the map. "There's only two reasons why she wouldn't appear on the map. The first is that she's no longer on Hogwart's borders."

"It's impossible to get off the grounds now," Neville interceded darkly.

* * *

"They've looked for her everywhere, Scorpius," Isabella moaned. "Don't you see what this means?"

"I know Rose," Scorpius said quietly. "She's hiding out until she can come to terms with this. She just scared."

"You don't get it, you idiot!" Isabella exploded, thumping a fist on his shoulder. " _No_ one can find her. The teachers are combing through the _lake_."

Scorpius' face became cold. He had a very clear image of Rose sinking to the bottom of the bathtub.

* * *

"Oh, Merlin. So, the only other explanation is she's no longer alive—"

"No," Albus said, his eyes widening. "I know where she is."

He rolled up the map and took off running, ignoring Professor Neville's protests.

* * *

Scorpius took off running, his eyes stinging with the sudden light as he hit the school grounds.

* * *

The sun dipped towards the horizon in the dusky afternoon, beginning to sink into the cradle of the far off mountains. The trees in the forest swayed like a sea of hands reaching out and up towards the heavens.

The Tree of Refuge was just beginning to admit its ethereal glow when Albus arrived at the base of its roots. Despite the panic that had propelled him through the Forbidden Forest, the moment he was within the tree's light, a sense of peace washed over him. He spotted one of Rose's red sneakers scattered near a thick, carved root. He took the first rung of the ladder and began to climb, his wand between his teeth.

Rose was up there, both her legs dangling over the edge of the platform while her face was pressed into the bannister. The leaves of the forest whispered in a heavy susurrus, like the sigh that follows a great bout of tears. Exhausted from his searching and running, Albus pulled himself over the final branches and laid on the platform. Rose's other sneaker sat beside him on its side, laces undone.

"It was my fault," Rose whispered. "She was on my back. That knife was meant for me."

A calm had settled over them both. Rose admitted this in the same way a dueller ends a skirmish. The fight went out of her.

"You can't think that way," Albus said quietly. "I was the one that pulled the knife out of her back to attack that goblin. If I hadn't, she wouldn't have bled out."

"I keep going over it in my head," Rose said, her voice thick and stormy. "If I had stopped Scorpius buying her that stupid broom for Christmas. If I had fought against the teachers letting her go. If we brought her straight up to the school like we were supposed to…I was responsible for her and I let her die."

"Blaming yourself won't bring her back."

Rose turned away from him, brushing the tears from her eyes.

"You don't understand Slytherins. We have an honour system. An eye for an eye. A life for a life. If you bring unjust death, the only recompense is taking your own life."

Which is why she had gone to the Astronomy Tower, he guessed. Of course, her first thought was to throw herself off the tallest tower of the Castle. He heard Scorpius' smirking voice in his head, _she's an exhibitionist._ But Rose couldn't go through with whatever stupid honour system she believed in.

"I wanted to be somewhere alone, somewhere up high, so I came here. But the moment I climbed the tree, I just couldn't. I don't know whether it's the tree's magic that stopped me or whether I don't have the guts."

Albus shook his head, staring at the little light left filtering through the leaves.

"It's because you aren't responsible for her death and you know it."

This hung in the air, only interrupted by songbirds and the distant hooves of centaurs.

"It's the goblin who threw the knife who would have to lay down his life to restore balance."

"But I can't even carry out revenge. He's dead."

"I killed him," Albus agreed, choking as the words came out. "I took his life. I took someone's _life_. I never thought I would do that. I have the hands of a murderer."

"You did what you had to do," Rose said. For the first time, her voice had zeal. "If you hadn't thrown that knife we would have all died."

"And if you hadn't carried Meredith on your back, we would have died in the Three Broomsticks."

"That's different. I was running for my life. You were acting in defence to save us."

He shook his head, disquieted. "I saw the knife and I threw it. I prioritised my life over his. I decided that my need to survive was more important. That was automatic. There is no courage in that."

It was self-preservation, and it was something Rose had once smugly called a mantra. Except, she never thought it would cost one of her own. They were silent again for a few beats, the last of the light disappearing. The glow of the tree grew more intense in the dark, leeching through the trunk's runes and filtering up through the branches. The light bathed their skin gold.

"Let's go," Rose said, heaving a heavy sigh.

After both climbing down the ladder, they found Scorpius sitting patiently on one of the roots, Rose's red sneaker in his lap. He stood as they hit the ground.

"Ready?"

"Yes," Rose said, unsurprised to see him. Of course he, too, had guessed where she was. She walked towards him and retrieved her sneaker, squeezing her foot back into it, gripping Scorpius' left arm to remain steady. Even with both feet on the ground, she kept her hand on his arm and finally met his eyes. The flecks of gold in her blue eyes glimmered beneath the tree, shining with amity. "I'm sorry I blamed you for Meredith last night."

Scorpius nodded gently, gripping her hand. Rose sighed and gestured towards Albus. The three of them headed back to the forest path. The Tree of Refuge continued to shine behind them, drenching the ground in a halo of gold, until after a minute or so, they had left it behind in the dense brush. The mood grew more sombre by the second. The cloud of peace lifted from them. Their faces set into grimaces. Rose clenched her jaw with each step until something in the nearest trees flittered.

The trio came together, back to back in a tight triangle; all drew their wands so fast and so sharp that they cut an arc in the air with their Stunning Spells. But it was not a foe or a dangerous beast. It was a pair of luminous, milky blue eyes. A pair of leathery, bat-like wings twitched. A skeletal, reptilian head sniffed at the air.

They started at the gentle Thestral. It was hideous but harmless, yet its looks were not the source of their horror. It was proof that exceeded the cool, elegant tombstone by the lake's shore. It was death.

It blinked at them with its misty eyes. Then, it turned and headed further into the forest. Their breath caught in their throats.

"The only people to blame for this is the Kobold Könige," Rose said quietly, staring after the Thestral. "So I will make sure they die by my hands."

* * *

 **A/N: So dramatic, gosh. Thank you to the lovely DaftDruid for editing this chapter for me. Thank you also for your patience and kind reviews. If I didn't have a chance to reply personally, then I send my deepest gratitude here at the bottom of this page. Happy June x**


	19. Chapter Nineteen

—CHAPTER NINETEEN—

"I think a business as usual approach is the best way forward, for now."

"We're still in a siege situation."

"Best not let anyone realise that. Especially the students."

"Hermione's working on a solution. Until we create a safe passageway between Hogwarts and Diagon Alley, we have to stay in lockdown. No one in and no one out."

The staffroom was filled with a mix of teachers and Order members, sitting around the table with a tired air. Hermione was seated at one end of the table and Neville at the other, something neither of them had been comfortable about, but everyone had took their seats so quickly it left them no choice.

"Our biggest priority is creating an air of safety and normalcy for the students," Ginny said, placing her hands flat on the table. "Special attention needs to be given to the children involved in the Hogsmeade siege."

She said this as if her own son wasn't still isolated to the Hospital Wing. Everyone upheld her detached sentiment, nodding, their faces very grim. Hannah Longbottom raised her hand half-heartedly. There was no real leader to the discussion, but due to where she was sitting, Hermione was the one to nod for her to speak.

"I think I've told most of you that I'm avoiding treating any of the student's trauma with potions," she said, glancing for a moment to Bellucci. "It's just going to cause bigger issues in the long run."

"What's the plan, then?" Hermione asked.

"I think I should hold compulsory counselling sessions for everyone involved," Hannah said gently.

"That's how they treat trauma in the Auror program," Ron agreed. "I'm for it."

Everyone seemed to agree. The only person who didn't give much response was Harry, who was staring distractedly at a large ornate wardrobe at the back of the room.

"Business as usual means returning to classes?" Neville clarified.

"I think so," Professor Flitwick squeaked, stroking his beard.

"That leaves us with the issue of replacing Drummond," Professor Tate added.

Neville frowned. "Is that necessary?"

"Someone needs to be in command of the school, to look after the students," Hannah replied sternly.

"Whoever votes for Neville, say aye."

"Oh, hang on—I didn't volunteer myself!"

"You were deputy headmaster," Professor Bellucci said. "It's only fitting, I believe, for you to take up the position."

"But—but—" Neville turned to appeal to Ron, Harry and Hermione, who did not say a word of protest. Scrambling for an excuse, he said, "But I can't be Headmaster and teach Herbology."

"There are not that many Divination electives this year," Professor Trelawney offered, raising her willowy hand.

Neville looked alarmed at the suggestion. He clearly did not want his beloved greenhouses in the hands of the slightly senile Sybill.

"Or I could take over," Professor Sharma said, meeting Neville and Hannah's eyes. "I was a Herbology whizz in my youth."

"We'll reshuffle the rest of the staff," Professor Tate agreed.

"Everyone here who feels Neville should take over as the Headmaster, raise your hand," Hermione said.

It was a complete consensus, only Neville himself leaving his hand down, staring about at the others in bewilderment.

"We can't have a simultaneous Herbology and Defence class run," Neville protested, as if this was the biggest flaw in their plan.

"Of course not," Ron agreed. "We already have a Defence teacher to step in."

Here, the entire room looked to Harry. He had been sitting at the right of Hermione, his wife on his other side, his chin resting on his hand. At the mention of his name, he sat up a little straighter, fixing his glasses. Everyone seemed just as surprised by Ron's suggestion as Harry himself did.

"I—I thought Harry would be taking over the Order," Professor Bellucci said.

"No," Ron said firmly. "I think Hermione should be in charge of that."

"Hermione has a greater capacity to handle the political side of things," Ginny agreed, as if this was their motive.

"Harry has the teaching experience, too," Hermione offered, "because he used to lead Dumbledore's Army and he also ran training sessions in the Auror Department."

Harry stared at Ron, as if they were the only two people in the room, and in the look they shared, a great wave of relief seemed to roll off Harry.

"All in favour of making Harry the new defence teacher, say aye."

* * *

Scorpius stepped out of the shower, gingerly rubbing his hair dry with a towel. With one slender hand, he swiped the steam off the mirror. His pale, pointed face stared back, as empty as a death mask. With his free hand, he slicked his wet hair back. It instantly made him seem both older and younger at once. He had not worn his hair this way since fifth year, but now that it was all pulled back, the sharpness of his jaw seemed more pronounced. He grabbed his pyjamas and turned away from the mirror.

When he entered the dormitory, he noticed Zabini wasn't in bed, but he wasn't surprised. He'd be with Imogen. Toby Fleischer was awake though, a book propped on his knees, and when Scorpius approached his four-poster, the other boy gestured with his hand.

"You have a guest," he said quietly.

Scorpius pulled back the emerald green curtains. Rose was coiled up under his sheets, a snake in a basket, facing away from him, her arms cradling his pillow. Scorpius sighed, regarding her the way a parent might contemplate a dragon poxed child. Then, he climbed into the bed with her, wrapping his arm around her waist. She was awake but didn't respond physically or verbally. She stayed as still as ever. He ran his thin fingers through her bushy auburn hair.

"Classes are starting back tomorrow," Scorpius said. It was almost absurd to see the seventh year prefects stick the notice up in the common rooms. Rose wouldn't have entered the common room, so she wouldn't know. "They made the announcement tonight."

He continued to run his fingertips through her hair long after he had accepted she wouldn't reply. Fleischer eventually put his book aside and extinguished his wand. Scorpius waited until her breathing evened into the rhythm of sleep before he closed his eyes. Tomorrow, they would all have to wake up and button up their school uniforms, fasten their ties around their necks and sit in classrooms as if nothing had happened.

* * *

"It was _brilliant_ , wasn't it?"

" _He's_ brilliant!"

"I've never, ever had a lesson like that."

"Merlin, I can't wait until—when's our next class?"

Albus came to a halt outside of the Great Hall's doors, his book bag on his shoulder and a sandwich in hand. Hugo and Anisha and several other fourth years were spilling down the staircase, speaking loudly and brightly, eyes lit up with excitement. It was absurd, after the morose mood that had veiled the entire castle, to see them so happy. Albus approached them, breaking up their chatter.

"What's the fuss about?"

"We just had our first Defence class with Harry," Hugo supplied, a little jittery. "It was…it was amazing."

"Was it?" Albus asked, raising his eyebrows.

Anisha was bouncing on her toes, plucking Hugo's sleeve. "Let's go outside and practice those spells."

"Alright," Hugo agreed. "See you later, Albus."

He waved them off, and then stood there a little while with his bag hanging on his shoulder. After a beat, he shoved his sandwich in his mouth and began ruffling through his bag for his timetable.

* * *

"Who do you feel is your support network in this," Hannah asked, the notebook on her lap but her hands clasped over the top of it.

Tallulah, the fifth year Hufflepuff who wore her frizzy hair in braids, drew a deep breath.

"All the Hufflepuffs have been amazing. Everyone's really been looking after each other. We've all been sleeping in the common room since the seige," she said. "I'm mostly worried about the others."

"The others?" Hannah prompted.

Tallulah brushed a few flyaway curls from her eyes, her brow pinched. "James Potter. Rose Weasley. No one's seen much of them."

"Why are you worried about them?" Hannah moderated, "Were you friends with them?"

Tallulah chewed her lip. She twisted and pulled at her fingers as if they could come loose. "All the Hufflepuffs were quite cruel back when…well, when it was just politics, it was easy to feel like they were on the wrong side. It was practical to just shut them out."

"Tallulah," Hannah said gently, "it's not your responsibility to look after them."

"It _is_ ," she said, very earnest, her eyes welling with tears. "We're all meant to be there for one another. I don't know how it happened…we parroted everything the Ministry said without thinking and we turned on anyone who asked questions. We should have been there for each other. We should have been asking more questions. We should have been protecting each other. I belong to a support network, Madam Longbottom, but I worry about the ones who we cut out of it."

* * *

The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs milled about nervously in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Their teacher had not yet arrived, although rumour had now circulated that Professor Sharma had absconded the post and a new Professor had stepped in. A large, round target with red rings and a bullseye leaned against the desk at the front of the room. All the desks had been removed from the classroom. No one was commenting on this odd layout and what appeared to be a practical lesson. Everyone's eyes were on Albus, whispered words trapped behind hands. He bounced with nerves. Imogen walked up to him as she tied her long, dirty blonde hair in a ponytail.

"I'm guessing you didn't know about the change," she said.

"It's not like we've chatted about the curriculum," he replied curtly. And he hadn't. Conversations with his parents, who were sleeping out in the field of tents by the lake, dwelt on James or rotated back to Hogwarts' defences. Once he had caught his mum saying that she would run all the Order's new plans for Diagon Ally by Hermione, which Albus found strange. Harry never talked about the Order anymore, at least not like someone who was in charge of it. That should've tipped Albus off.

His dad entered the room and the class fell silent. Imogen hummed a little under her breath, less apathetic than usual, and the change in her bothered Albus. She was just like everyone else, standing with bated breath. Harry crossed to the window and paused, squinting out at the sheet of grey rain falling over the grounds. The white light streaming in caught the silver in his messy black hair as he scratched his chin, the class watching quietly in complete attentiveness. Then Harry turned back to the class, green eyes x-raying them all through his round glasses.

"If the weather was better we would've done this outside but it looks like the clouds are conspiring against us," he said. He flicked his wand easily, summoning a black parcel from his desk and unravelling it with his free hand. A set of silver knives glimmered from it.

Oh, Albus thought, his eyes on the knives. Oh, this is why they love him. He's showing off. And Harry was. He smirked a little, motioning at the target. The cheekiness was not something he had worn for a very long time.

"Now, the way I run my Defence classes are simple - firstly, always feel confident to volunteer, because chances are you'll get it right, and even if you don't, better to learn by mistakes in the classroom than out in the real world. Secondly, never feel afraid to ask for help. Thirdly, there is no such thing as a stupid question. Don't be afraid to speak up if you don't understand. Understood?"

Everyone nodded unanimously, their heads bobbing.

"You're all sixth years," Harry went on. "You've had a decent Defence education up until this point—better than what I was taught back in my days. But times are changing, and so do our defences. Who's heard of the saying, 'The best defence is a good offense'?"

Caleb Macmillan raised his hand. "It's a muggle concept that's been used in wizard warfare, too. It's a part of the Strategic Offensive principle of battle."

"Right," Harry nodded uncertainly. He stared at the Hufflepuff for a beat, and then gestured at him with one of the knives. "That was a rhetorical question but sure. Five points to Hufflepuff," Harry squinted back out at the rain and twirled the knife in his hand. "But this isn't a time of tactics on a battlefield; this is a time of terrorism and guerrilla warfare. So the best defence is being able to bloody defend yourself. I've always felt that way, anyway. If you can disarm an opponent then there's nothing to defend yourself from."

Everyone hung off these words, as if wisdom was gushing over them in a drought. Except, of course, Albus. The first thing Harry did when Albus turned eleven and chose his wand was to take him out to the backyard and teach him _Expelliarmus_.

"Sir, what are the knives for?" Dolt Walton asked.

"Good question," Harry said, but his voice was dripping with sarcasm. "They're for throwing. Now -"

"Aren't we supposed to be using wands?" Lucy Bird whined, her hand half-raised.

"Wands aren't your only weapon," Harry said, a little frustrated with the interruption. "You should be familiar with a range of weapons."

"Sir, I thought we were focusing on Defence, today, not offence?"

"Okay, remember when I said there are no stupid questions?" Harry barked, the belt of knives swinging from his grip. "I take it back. Stop asking stupid questions."

Imogen snorted with amusement, which only irked Albus more. A few of his other classmates tittered. Harry pointed his wand at the target at the front of the classroom. It hovered up into the air like a strange, two-dimensional planet. With another swish of his wand, Harry set the target moving from the left to the right in a frenetic pace. He gestured at the nearest Gryffindor, which happened to be Angus Finnigan, who flinched at having his presence addressed. Harry held out the sheath with its line of glinting knives.

"Can you produce a _Protego_ charm, Angus?"

"Y-yes," he stammered.

"Good. Your aim is to hit the target with a knife while holding a Shielding Charm. Sound simple enough?"

The class immediately backed away. Angus gulped and took a few steps forward. He slid a knife from the belt.

"Do I throw with my left hand or right?" he asked, clutching his wand in his dominant hand and the knife in the other.

Harry shrugged in response and raised his own wand.

Albus found it brutal to watch. Angus threw four knives without even skimming the target, all the while holding a Shield Charm as Harry flung Disarming Spell after spell at him. Twice Angus' shield broke as his concentration and focus waned, his wand flying through the room. He didn't manage to hit the target, but once he had gone through the five knives (the last just manages to knick the outermost ring of the target) he had to move on.

This repeated for each classmate as each stepped up for his or her five minutes of contact. The knives would spiral towards the target, hit the floor, then bounce up with a life of their own and fly back over to their owner, hovering for their next use like strange, silver pets.

Harry attempted to disarm each student while they simultaneously threw knives and held their shield. A few students managed to hit the target. Most were unable to. Some could only keep the protection spell up when they weren't taking aim, incapable of splitting focus. Everyone watched on, trying to learn for their predecessor's mistake, fallaciously thinking it would be easy until they were the ones juggling a spell and a weapon.

"Find your rhythm, find your rhythm," Harry chanted, barraging Naomi Bones with Disarming Spells that warped the surface of her shield.

No one could really find his or her rhythm. It seemed an impossible task. The target, nicked and tattered where it had been hit, continued to swing erratically back and forth like a clock pendulum.

Imogen stepped up, wand at the ready. She missed the first time—no one had gotten anywhere close to the target on their first throw. She kept the Shield Charm steady. Then, in a series of movements that left the class bewildered, she threw the knives one after another. Her hand whipped out at them, snatching them like canaries, then thrusting them right at the target. First, the outer ring, then the inner circle. The last two found the bullseye. It was so quick that the target didn't even finish its loop to the other wall. People applauded, somewhat begrudgingly, and Harry awarded ten points to Gryffindor.

Of course, it would be Imogen who could split her focus perfectly. Who would compartmentalise her defence and offense as if two different bodies were working in tandem. Her knives picked themselves up and returned to their starting point.

With sweaty palms, Albus stepped up. The first knife felt uncertain in his hand, the weight strange and unusual. He missed, his throw too slow, clumsy from his left hand. He switched his wand to his left hand and took the first knife with his right. He cast his _Protego_ Charm and then focused his eyes on the bullseye. The Disarming Spells began to bombard the translucent force field spilling from the tip of his wand. He tried to bear the weight on his shoulder, took aim, and threw. He missed, just.

The weight of the spells threw him off balance—he kept the shield charm steady—he took aim ahead of the target this time, predicting its movement and just—just hit the edge.

Another Disarming Spell warped his shield, then another, and another. He missed the target again. The next knife hovered, waiting floating like a paper airplane. Albus snatched it from the air and gripped it in his sweaty hand. Before the knife even left his hand, he felt a familiar surge of energy, animal instinct, blind aim. He hit the inner most ring of the target, much to the excitement of the class, but Albus only felt the blinding pulse of the knife leaving his grip and finding purchase in the soft forehead of a skull, cracking through the cranium. He gripped the last knife, palm slick with sweat. The cyclopic red bullseye danced about merrily, back and forth.

 _Bang—bang—bang_ —the Shield Charm shook. He tried to take aim, to follow the eye—bang— _bang_ —Disarming Spell after spell bombarding him so his balance was thrown off—he thought of the knife, quick as a dart, sinking deep into the hard, thick skull—bang—bang— _bang_!

His Shield Charm crumbled. His wand flew from his hand. And Albus turned, reflexively thrusting the knife at his attacker.

Harry didn't miss a beat. He flung up his own Shielding Charm. The dagger bounced off, clattering to the floor. The class took several steps away, aghast by the quick turn of events. Just as easily, with another flick, Harry dissolved his charm.

"Good," he said, nodding at Albus genially, as if this was a part of the demonstration. Albus panted hard, the blood rushing to his face from humiliation. "I think that wraps up today's lesson. Your only homework is to keep practicing your Shield Charm with your friends."

Slowly, the room dispersed. Bags were collected off the floor and sleeves were rolled back down. People cast surprised looks after Albus, their eyes darting between him and his father, the knife on the floor, whispers erupting from behind hands. Imogen passed Albus, thumping him on the shoulder as she went, as if to say in her own sarcastic little way _good work._

"Make sure you never get on her bad side," Harry said, nodding after Imogen as she closed the door behind her. "She will literally kill you."

"Dad, I murdered someone," Albus said quietly.

Harry looked at him for a long moment, his green eyes reflecting his son's. The emotion throbbed in the empty room.

"So did I," he replied, very faintly.

"I feel…so guilty." Albus buried his face in his hands. "It wasn't me in that moment, except that it was."

"We do things that violate our values sometimes, Albus," Harry said. He crossed to him and enveloped him in a hug, his arms tight around his son's shoulders. "It isn't okay," he said, resting his chin on Albus' messy, black hair. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

"I wasn't supposed to have an appointment until Wednesday," Hugo said, walking into the Healer's office and dropping his school bag on the floor. He was missing Charms, one of his favourite subjects, and he wasn't especially happy about it. Still in his hand, he held the folded piece of parchment that summoned him from class.

"Right. Rose failed to attend her appointment so I swapped you."

"She failed to attend again?" Hugo blanched. "Have any of the teachers gone to see her?"

Hannah didn't answer this. Instead, she smiled apologetically and gestured at the leather chair opposite her. It was a cosy room, her office. A bunch of yellow daffodils on her windowsill honked like geese whenever the sun fell on them. Hugo stared at them as he slowly took his seat. Hannah didn't prompt him to get his attention. She, too, turned her attentions to the daffodils as they continued to trumpet their little sounds.

"Are you going to give me ways to cope with everything?" he asked.

"I might, if you feel you need them."

"I feel like," Hugo began, his voice heavy, "that I didn't do enough."

"What could you have done?"

He shrugged. "Lily was so brave."

"You were brave, too, Hugo," Hannah said gently. "You protected Meredith."

"Scorpius protected Meredith," Hugo recalled. "He was the one who attacked the goblin. I just dragged her over the counter."

"And got hurt in the process," Hannah added. "You know, there was nothing more you could have done."

"Lily was so with it," Hugo said again, this time with frustration. "It was like she knew exactly what to do. Like programming. I could hardly even get James through the tunnel—how is James?"

Hannah shook her head, indicating that she wasn't going to deviate from their conversation. He began to rub his hands over his knees, too agitated to stay still.

"In the end, none of us could protect Meredith."

The daffodils stopped honking. The sun had shifted and the room was darker now. Hugo looked Hannah in the eyes, his hands trembling until he closed them into fists.

"This is the part where you tell me how to cope."

"Alright," Hannah agreed, tearing a sheet of parchment free. "I will."

* * *

"What did your dad say after we left?" Imogen asked, kicking her shoes off and sinking into the common room's sofa.

Albus nestled further into the cushions. The whole day had been exhausting. He could feel his head throbbing.

"He said I better not get on your bad side or you'll kill me."

"Abercrombie killing people? Why's that?" Roxanne said, leaning on the back of the sofa.

"Duelling in Defence today," Albus supplied. "Imogen blew us out of the water."

"Ah. I've heard Harry has been running excellent practical workshops."

"I don't think Midge needs them."

"Merlin, would you stop complimenting me?" Imogen huffed. "All you ever do is say nice things."

"I'm a nice person," Albus blustered.

"Oh, _please_ , Albus. Say one negative thing about me. Anything negative."

Albus stared at her, rather affronted. He tucked his wand back into his robes to stall for time. "You—" he began, voice quailing. "You have really blonde eyebrows."

Imogen raised said eyebrows. "That's a statement, not an insult."

"I can't _insult_ people for kicks, Midge."

"Saying anything negative, then. _Anything_."

Albus hesitated again, mustering up some courage. "People can be really shit."

Imogen blinked. She shook her head, as if disgusted. "Merlin."

"I _can_ be negative, you just put me on the spot!"

"Don't even bother."

"Give me another chance."

"No. Your positive validation exhausts me," Imogen snapped. "If only you chucked knives more often."

* * *

Since classes had commenced, things drummed on as usual, picking up where they left off, but now propelled with an instinctual urgency beneath. There was no pettiness about doing well for marks or studying for exams. It was learning of a different kind, the organisation of the mind. Class became a place where no one had to think about anything other than the words on the blackboard in front of them.

Albus settled in beside Scorpius, scattering his potions across the workbench. Imogen hesitated after him, and then tapered off to sit with Mary Boot. For the last week, Albus walked around like a horse with blinders, unable to see anything outside his peripheries. He spoke in blunt sentences that aimed for practicality but fell just short, instead sounding distracted or curt. Even now, he spoke to Scorpius with little subtlety.

"How's Rose?"

"She didn't feel like class today," Scorpius replied, straining for sardonic humour. "Especially double potions."

But it was a flat excuse. Rose hadn't left the common room once since the funeral. She refused to come up for meals. She didn't appear for any of her classes. On most days, she didn't leave her bed. Upon the seventh year leader's instructions, Isabella, Sonia and Estelle brought her meals to her bedroom. They were expecting her to break out of the funk any day now.

Albus had not seen her since their detour to the Tree of Refuge, and the absence had made him grow restless.

Professor Bellucci rapped her wand against an hourglass on her desk and the sand siphoned into the bottom flask. She turned to face everyone. Now in the habit of wearing her brown hair in a slick bun, she looked older, less glamorous, her delicate features set in a grimace. She gestured at their cauldrons.

"Today, you have the double period to prepare a Blood-Replenishing Potion. As this potion usually takes several hours to complete, I have already provided all of the material prepped. I ask instead that you spend this time brewing your potions meticulously. This is not a time to make any errors," she said, her voice less sing-song than usual. "You have the full two hours."

Mary Boot raised her hand.

"Professor, will we have a prize?"

Coming to herself, Bellucci nodded and returned to her desk, fiddling around until she pulled out a phial.

"Murtlap Essence," she said, holding up the phial. The room somewhat wilted with disappointment. Compared to the more dazzling potions of the past, it was a let down. "Trust me," Bellucci said, noticing the anticlimax, "You'd be surprised how often this comes in handy."

The hourglass turned and everyone began brewing his or her potions. Their ingredients were all splayed out and ready, meaning that the work was less fiddly than usual. Albus was surprisingly confident, more so than Scorpius, hardly needing to consult his textbook. Conversation continued to flow from his lips in bursts, like a leaky tap.

"Been to see Hannah yet?" he asked.

Scorpius spoke carefully now, his tone slightly heavier. "Not yet. My appointment is this week."

"When is Rose's?"

"Last Monday and then Thursday. She failed to attend twice."

"Ah. So they've rescheduled her again?"

"I'm not sure whether she'll show," Scorpius admitted. "It will be good for her to talk, I think. Even though she isn't talking to anyone."

"That's not a good sign," Albus agreed grimly. "She's not one to stay holed up and quiet."

"Mind you, I generally hole up and stay quiet and I get along just fine," Scorpius said, almost defensively. Then he deflated. "I don't think I'm the best judge of what's healthy emotional processing though."

"It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be," Albus said, returning to his cauldron. It took Scorpius a moment to realise he was returning to the topic of the therapy sessions.

"I'm not particularly adept at talking about how I feel."

"Then talk about whatever you want. You just have to fill the hour."

They both fell silent while they stirred their cauldrons. It was pleasant working side by side, without the need to speak. The bubble of the potion was soothing, filling the room with warmth. Scorpius noticed both Mary Boot and Imogen Abercrombie watching them and hesitated to draw Albus' attention to this, but he cut him off, still as oblivious as ever.

"What are you doing for your Alchemy research project?"

"A Gravimetric analysis of the Wolfsbane Potion," Scorpius replied distractedly. "I'm hoping the results will indicate what ingredients need to be modified to find a permanent solution." In his free time, when no one was relying on Scorpius to do prefect patrols or draw up schedules or copy down homework notes, in the time where no one needed him, he would vanish into the bowels of the school to work on his Wolfsbane potion. Down there, it was like nothing else existed. "What about you?"

"A case study on Bursera microphylla sap and its properties as a panacea," Albus replied, fiddling with his newt's tail. He sprinkled a teaspoon into his cauldron then glanced up at Scorpius with a smile. "I thought it would be up your ally."

"Bursera microphylla sap! I actually have a brilliant book about the healing properties of tree species in the Frankincense Family if you care for it."

"I would definitely care for it," Albus grinned. "And I'm happy to troubleshoot any Wolfsbane problems if you have any."

Scorpius smiled warily, stirring his potion anticlockwise, then placing his wand aside while it boiled. The two hours were almost up.

"Do you feel like it helped?" Scorpius asked. Albus looked up, confused. He went on, "Talking to Hannah."

"It didn't hurt," he said. "I don't feel so…I don't feel so guilty."

Scorpius didn't feel guilty. He wasn't sure what he was experiencing in the wake of Meredith's death, but it was certainly not guilt. When it was time to face Hannah, he knew that he would not be able to put a name to his feelings, to articulate them beyond the gushing rush of animal energy that pounded inside of him.

"Time is almost up. Please prepare a sample," Bellucci said, closing her leather notebook and placing it aside. She stood up, swishing her wand so a glass phial appeared on each student's workbench. Bellucci began inspecting the flasks, labelling the potions as viable or unusable.

"Albus," Scorpius asked quietly, packing away his brass scales. The other boy looked up, his green eyes bright and blunt. Scorpius took a shaky breath. "How long did it take you before you felt...ready to be around people?"

"I suppose a few days after the funeral," Albus supplied, speaking slowly. He knew that Scorpius was not asking for himself. "But I wasn't the one who had Meredith on my back."

Scorpius nodded, his brows knotted together.

"My, look at this. Lovely work as always, Scorpius. This is definitely a viable potion. Wonderful colouring although a little runny. Not as runny as Abercrombie's mind you, but—oh! Albus, well _done_. This consistency is perfect. Its as thick as real blood, this would most certainly speed up the clotting process too. Marvelous work," Bellucci said. She dug around her robes and handed over the small phial of Murtlap Essence.

She turned back to the class, who were almost finished packing away their belongings.

"If everyone could leave their cauldrons and potions on their desks, that would be marvelous," Bellucci said, sweeping by them. "You can dissolve the potions that are unviable."

* * *

Scorpius knocked on the sixth year girl's dormitory, then waited patiently with his hands in his pockets. A tray of food sat on the floor. Someone had put a lily in a bowl of water, beside the half eaten scraps of food. Isabella cracked the door open. She had a habit of playing gatekeeper. She gave Scorpius a half smile, peeking through the sliver.

"Alright?"

"Yes," he said, with a single nod. "How is she?"

Isabella glanced over her shoulder, her hair sliding over her back. Then, she slipped out of the door and closed it behind her. "Sleeping," she answered. She shrugged, shoulders jerking up to her ears, then sighed—a nothing can be done sigh.

Scorpius reached out and hesitantly brushed her bangs. "You need to trim them. They're in your eyes," he said.

"Maybe," Isabella agreed, ducking away from his fingers. "I might grow them out."

Scorpius gestured at the flower on the food tray. Isabella teetered on her toes.

"I was in charge of bringing her dinner tonight," she explained. "I thought the flower would be a nice touch. Sonia brought Rose roast beef at lunch and she ate far more of that than she did of the leak stew tonight."

"Try pancakes tomorrow," Scorpius suggested. "They're her favourite."

Although, all food was once Rose's favourite.

"I'm thinking of starting Quidditch training again," Scorpius said.

Isabella nodded earnestly. "That's a good idea. It'll get people in a routine again—active."

"You don't think it's too soon?"

"No, it'll be a good pick-me-up. Exercise is good for mental health."

Scorpius raised his eyebrows. "You're so chipper."

Isabella snorted, her pug nose making her look extra piggish. She rolled her eyes. "I'm trying to be a less selfish person."

Scorpius bounced back her small smirk. "That's ludicrous. Being selfish is what keeps us alive. Goodnight, Belle."

"Good night," she said, her hand already finding the doorknob.

* * *

The daffodils on Hannah's window shivered in the sun, turning their bulbs towards the little afternoon light that was visible. For some peculiar reason, William Wordsworth's poetry danced across his mind— _a host, of golden daffodils; beside the lake, beneath the trees fluttering and dancing in the breeze._ It was not a particularly good Wordsworth poem. When he was about thirteen and his parents first erected the greenhouse for him, encouraging his love of Herbology, Scorpius had found himself falling down a rabbit's hole of romanticism. He found a Wordsworth poem tucked into a second-hand botany book and began to exhume any and all of his poetry. His parents found it peculiar, but Astoria was in a phase of letting Scorpius pursue whatever took his fancy, so they bought muggle poetry books and watering cans.

"How have you been, Scorpius?" Hannah asked gently.

"Fine," he said. "Working on potions. Trying to catch up on all the work we missed."

Hannah seemed to see right through him, her brown eyes soft and tender.

"And how have you been feeling?"

Scorpius blinked at Hannah slowly. "Fine," he said, again. He tried especially hard to clear his thoughts.

Neville would have gotten her the daffodils, maybe to cheer his wife up. Hannah looked tired, the bags under her eyes were like tree-rings, a dendrochronology of the nights she hadn't slept and the days that sifted by like restless dreams. The daffodils added a cheerful burst of yellow and a chorus of sound, but Scorpius found the honking bouquet unsettling.

Sounds that soothed him: the subterranean drip of his potion chamber, the lapping of the lake against his window, the soft crackling of his cauldron kindling.

"My parents are here, on the grounds," Scorpius said, staring at the windowsill. "It makes my skin itch."

"You don't have a good relationship with them."

Scorpius turned his grey eyes on her. "I have an appropriately stoic relationship with them."

"Did you talk about what happened in Hogsmeade with them?" Hannah interpreted his look as a no. "Would you like to try and talk about it with me?"

"My parents wanted to raise me better than they were raised. A big part of that was raising me to be impartial, to not get involved."

"But you're very involved, now," Hannah said, following his train of thought. She fondled the ends of her mustard scarf, the wool looking rough and worn. "Does it bother you to forge your own path, away from your parents' expectations?"

Scorpius gripped his bony hands together. "I want to start Quidditch practices again," he said, changing tact.

Hannah started. "Well, if you're ready—"

"I want the distractions. And I think it will bring the house together again, don't you? Motivate us all."

"I imagine it would."

"It would mean replacing Meredith though," Scorpius said very carefully.

Hannah was not a Legilimens; Scorpius was just struggling to hide his sadness. She nodded slowly, her hands clasped in her lap, mimicking him unconsciously. Or maybe it was deliberate, a mirroring tactic to put him at ease. Her knuckles were pink, the skin dry.

"I think I need that to happen," Scorpius explained. "None of this…it isn't really real yet."

"So you want to replace Meredith?"

Scorpius raised his eyebrows coldly. "No, I said I want practices to start again."

* * *

"We're starting practices again?" Alice demanded, pulling the flyer off the noticeboard. Scorpius looked up from his Muggle Studies textbook, surprised. He nodded hesitantly. "It hasn't even been a month since she died."

Scorpius blinked in the face of Alice's anger. A few of the first and second years looked up from the rug. It was late in the evening, a weariness hanging over the common room, seeping into the cracks of the chesterfield lounges and flickering in the fireplace's grate. It was not the time for a row but Alice Lim was bristling for a fight, a bull scraping its foot on the ground in a cartoon cloud of dust, and Scorpius didn't have the energy to diffuse it.

"Are you just going to what—replace her?"

Scorpius nodded tiredly. "Yes," he said.

A few of the older students looked up from their little cliques, too.

"Y- _yes_?" Alice blustered.

Scorpius nodded. He closed his textbook.

"What the _hell_ , Malfoy?" Alice said, her voice climbing. "Who thinks this is a good idea?"

"Hannah suggested it."

"Oh, bugger Hannah!"

There was a long pause in which Scorpius' tiredness transitioned into something harder.

"Will I have to replace you, too, then?" he asked coldly. "Because I will."

Tears sprung up into Alice's eyes. Sterling got off the sofa, moving away from an affronted looking Zelda. He held up a cautioning hand. "Malfoy," he warned.

"Fuck you," Alice spat. "You heartless git."

He remained as unmoved as an iceberg, watching her storm down the girl's stairway as the rest of the room watched him. After a moment of stillness, everyone returned to whatever it was they were doing. Sterling slid back into his seat. After a little while, Scorpius opened his book again.

* * *

Albus squinted in frustration, staring hotly at André Zabini as he accompanied Imogen down to the stands. He fell still to watch them as they kissed goodbye, nonchalant and quick, habitually. The way his parents kissed each other goodbye whenever they used to leave for work—back when everything was still normal. Those little kisses that James would pretend to gag at and Lily would roll her eyes at.

Imogen approached the rest of the team with a broom on her shoulder. Albus sidled up beside her, an expectant look on his face, awaiting explanation.

"I'm subbing in," Imogen said, strapping on her gloves.

Albus raised his eyes. "What?"

"For your brother," she said. She held her hand over her broom and it flew up into her palm. Her grip was sturdy. She cocked her eyebrows. "I may be a muggle but I'm not completely shit, you know."

"Right," Albus shook his head. "Wait, what?"

"No one else wanted to take the position," Lorcan explained begrudgingly.

"Everyone's too grim to play, and anyone who might've been keen feels guilty to take James' spot."

"Except for you," Albus qualified.

Imogen shrugged, throwing her leg over the broomstick's handle.

"Imogen can fly steady. She knows how to catch a Quaffle. She'll be fine," Lorcan grunted, grabbing his own broom. "Let's practice. We're going to be rusty."

It became clear mid-way though the session that Imogen was too aggressive for team sport. This was not surprising. Imogen hated doing anything in groups. She shunned paired potions lessons, she diligently finished group-assessments on her own, she refused to join a study group in the library. A self-identified loner, hostile at best, she was not suited to Quidditch. She consistently failed to pass the Quaffle despite the others being open; she was often so focused she missed the other Chaser's directions; worse of all, she packed each of her goals too bluntly. They hit Albus straight in the guts, but he was always able to catch them. There was no diversion in her offense.

When yet another Quaffle came hurtling straight at Albus—as if she was _aiming_ at him, not the empty goalposts—he grew frustrated. He swung around with his broom, kicking it away so one of the other Chasers could go after it. Lorcan came back over, yelling instructions at Imogen, yet they were the same instructions she kept ignoring—

"Abercrombie, you need to be subtle! Fly left then shoot right, stop pitching everything in the middle."

Imogen's face was set in an angry, jaw-clenched grimace. She could fly well for a muggle, but she was hopeless, and she must have known it. Albus felt a pang of remorse, realising that she hardly had anyone's confidence either. Perhaps that's why she was performing so hopelessly. But his sympathy quickly sapped away. Why would Imogen offer herself up to the team in the first place, if she resented teamwork so much? And how odd it was for Zabini to just walk off after accompanying her to the grounds. He used to stay and watch the Slytherins with Isabella Nott whenever they had practice. It would make more sense for him to watch the Gryffindors so he could report their plays back to Slytherin, which surely would be the way a Slytherin would think. But perhaps he wasn't really invested in Quidditch anymore. Perhaps he just wasn't invested.

Another Quaffle came hurtling straight at his face. Albus caught it.

It was not a reassuring practice. Lily touched down, as light as a feather, the Snitch between her fingers. The Chasers hit the ground, defeated, but pulled Imogen aside to run her threw some tossing and catching drills. Albus steadied his broom beside the Captain.

"You seriously reckon playing Imogen is a good idea?" he asked.

Lorcan shrugged his broad shoulders. "I asked her, Albus. She's doing this as a favour to me."

The surprise on Albus' face must have been palpable because Lorcan motioned for him to take a few steps away from the rest of the team.

"It's not as if she owes you," Albus defended quietly. "You can't say you're friends."

"It's just a favour," Lorcan insisted.

"She's going to be humiliated out there."

"The other option is forfeiting," Lorcan replied hotly. "And to be completely honest, mate, I don't care about winning. I just want us to play. Got an issue with that?"

Stymied by this sudden show of steam, Albus returned the shrug and leaned back on his broom.

"She's not James," Lorcan admitted, his face pained. "But it'll do for now."

He gestured towards the others, asking them to pack up the equipment. As soon as the balls were locked away, Imogen sauntered over.

"You have a problem with my playing?"

"No," Albus muttered, strapping off his Keeper's gloves.

"If you want to criticise me, spit it out."

"Spit it out? Alright, fine. Do you want to hear something negative, Imogen? Do you want me to insult you?" Albus snapped, turning on her in a fury. "I think your lack of empathy bit is getting really old. You can be really heartless sometimes, and honestly, I don't see an excuse for it."

"This is about me being heartless?" she asked sarcastically, raising her eyebrows. "Oh, that clears up your attitude, I suppose."

"You are mean and pessimistic and expect the worst, _always_ ," Albus bit back. "You are exhausting. Why did you even fill in for James if you were going to play so consistently bad?"

"It was my first trial!"

"You hit the bullseye every time in our Defence class! You know how to bloody aim!"

Lorcan lumbered over, dropping his Beater's bat on the ground as he strode towards the two arguing Gryffindors.

"That's enough, now."

But Albus was _finally_ going. It was as if the lid had come off the kettle and all that was left was steam to bellow out. Imogen's hands had found her hips. She waited, expectantly, inviting further insult. He advanced on her, one finger pointed squarely at her chest.

"You're a defeatist! You put on this big tough act, but you're just frightened to seem weak!"

Imogen shoved Albus hard in the chest but he bounced back towards her. Lorcan got in between them, pushing them away from each other with thick, boorish arms. It still didn't stop them.

"What else, Potter?"

"You refuse to make friends because you're terrified they might reject you!"

"Enough!" Lorcan bellowed.

"No," Imogen said with a wild laugh, "keep going!"

"And you must think very little of yourself to date André Zabini. Particularly considering how little he thinks about _you_."

It was the last insult, the one at the bottom of his barrel. The moment Albus said it, he regretted it. The anger left him, puffing out in a final huff, and Lorcan finally broke them apart. They stumbled away from each other, panting hard. Imogen's jaw jutted out in a defiant grimace. Albus' chest heaved like he had run a mile.

"Are we done?" Lorcan demanded, throwing his arms up. "For Godric's sake, get your shit _together_ , people! There are more important battles to fight. This is fucking _Quidditch_!"

Imogen brushed her hair back with a stiff hand.

"We weren't arguing about Quidditch," she said.

* * *

Scorpius pulled aside the satin green curtains hanging around his bed to find Rose curled up on his mattress, laying on her side, her knees tucked up into her chest. He regarded her with a mixture of surprise and expectation, as one may note a cat that had an unexpected talent for curling itself up in household nooks. He sat down on the bed beside her, shuffling her over a little to make room for his book bag, and drew the curtain half shut.

"Why, hello," he said, as if she had popped in for tea and was not stumbled upon in his bed. "Glad that you're here actually. I've gone to the trouble of making copies of all the classwork you have missed in the last two weeks. I know you're a visual learner so I've tinted the parchment different shades for different subjects—have a look here, Herbology is green, Potions are purple, I thought it best to do Defense as red—oh which reminds me," Scorpius said shuffling the colourful stack of parchments aside, "you may want to come to our Defence Against the Darks Arts class tomorrow. I know Professor Sharma doted on you but we actually have a new teacher—I won't say whom in case you haven't heard already. No spoilers and all that."

He drew a deep breath, needing the chance to wet his lips. "I thought," he said, starting again, "you might want to hear some gossip, too. Apparently Imogen Abercrombie is filling James' spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch team and was dreadful this afternoon at practice, and Albus blew up at her. _Albus_. I mean, he literally cannot say a bad word about anyone, but he took on _Abercrombie_. Lily told me everything," he supplied, as if Rose had asked for further extrapolation. "Apparently had a go at her for dating Zabini, too, would you believe. Meek little Al. Lily reckons he's just upset that James won't be playing on the team anymore. Which reminds me, Isabella went to visit the Hospital Wing today to pick up your tonic," he said, fishing it out of his robes, "asked me to pass it onto you. But while she was there, she was asking after James and Hannah thinks he's made quite a few improvements. Not ready to have visitors just yet, but he's been responding to her counselling."

Rose rolled over slightly, taking the tonic from Scorpius' fishbone fingers and unstopping the phial with her teeth. She spat the cork onto the sheets and took the contents down in a single swig, pulling a bitter expression at the taste.

"I would've added sugar," he said sadly, "but it messes with the rate that the tonic works."

Rose slipped her hand into his and squeezed it tightly. Scorpius squeezed back.

"Are you going to go to your counselling session with Hannah?"

Rose blinked at him sleepily, one big blue eye hidden under a half-lid. Like the Giant Squid whenever it swum by the Common Room's windows, it's great eye blinking at them all, watching with penetrating disinterest through the glass.

"Will you come to Defence class at least?"

Rose squeezed his hand again.

"Please," she said, her voice husky, "for the love of Merlin's saggy left testicle, stop talking, Scorpius."

The ghost of a smile touched his face. "You taught me the art of small talk."

"Too well."

"I'm…I'm also holding a new set of try outs for Quidditch—"

"Don't," Rose said quietly, squeezing his hand like a vice. "Stop. I don't even want to hear about that."

Scorpius hesitated, his face very still. "Right," he agreed, aiming for a candid tone.

Rose sucked in a long breath and then exhaled in a sort of mute apology. To extend on the sentiment, she added, "I really wish you would just leave me alone."

"You're the one in my bed. And you're the one holding my hand," he said, raising their gripped embrace to make the point.

"It's habit now."

Scorpius glanced at the watch attached to the wrist of the hand that held hers. He took a deep breath and stood up.

"I need to work on Potions. Try reading these, alright?" He plonked the pile of multi-coloured papers in front of Rose with the air of a teacher. Rose stared at them with a desolate lack of motivation. He patted the top of the pile. "Just a bit of light reading."

"Light," Rose reiterated, and then smiled grimly. "Sure."

It was the first time Scorpius had seen a smile from her in weeks, even if it were not completely genuine. He left the room, breathing a sigh of relief.

Rose spent the rest of the evening in his bed, pouring over Scorpius' notes. They were written pedantically, in his neat cursive handwriting, rule margins and prim titles. But they weren't as dry as she expected. Scorpius had gone to the liberty of adding annotations to explain the mood of the class. Several of his notes also contained small cartoons with air bubbles to explain the spell (a charming drawing of Professor Tate becoming and then unbecoming a tiger.) They were filled with the gentle creativity becoming to Scorpius, and although he wasn't there to witness it, Rose found herself smiling more than she expected.

* * *

If studying had actually been a priority (and it no longer was in the wake of the Hogsmeade Siege) the seventh year girls would have murdered their younger compatriots because of the crashing, yowling catfight that started up in stone corridor. Of course, they did their very best to stay uninvolved, but it was difficult considering the volume.

It started with the sixth year girl's dormitory door swinging open and colliding with Isabella Nott, who had a silver dinner tray precariously balanced in her left hand as she reached for the doorknob. The tray crashed to the floor, shattering a bowl of pumpkin soup and sending the bread rolls rolling down the stairs. When the clatter of crockery subsided, Alice Lim stood as tall and thin as a steel beam on the sliver of the door.

"You did that on _purpose_!" Isabella fumed, taking a step out of the thick orange puddle.

"Of course I didn't," Alice blustered, her hands darting through her short, slick hair. "How would I even know you were on the other side of the door?"

Isabella refused to acknowledge this fact, instead taking out her wand to put the bowl back together and vanish away the soup. Alice watched on, begrudgingly guilty, biting her lip. Isabella wouldn't let her pass, clearly waiting for an apology.

"She's not even in there," Alice said instead, jerking her thumb over her shoulder.

"What?"

"She's not in there, she's disappeared again. Probably with Scorpius," Alice snapped.

"She'll still need dinner when she gets back, and I reckon _you_ should go and get it for her."

Alice screwed up her nose. "Yeah, right."

"I am sick of you, Lim. Your _attitude_ ," Isabella scorned, balling up her fists. Her face was turning very pink. "You haven't helped once all month—you haven't even asked if Rose is okay—"

"Well she's clearly not and why should I care?"

"You're acting so—so—"

"Just because the Seventh Years said we had to be at her very beck and call doesn't mean I have to—"

"—So immature, so—so bloody _selfish_."

"Oh, that's rich! It must run in the Slytherin traits to be selfish—you, Rose, our whole dorm—"

"I've been a bloody saint!" Isabella yelled, stamping her foot in outrage.

This was the final straw, of course, for decorum had to be upheld. The seventh year's dormitory door swung open, Zelda stuck her head out and bellowed at both girls in a voice that could rival one of Hagrid's pet beasts.

" _Both of you choke right now or I'll see to it you never speak again!"_

The girls fell silent. Alice slid past Isabella, and Isabella ducked down to retrieve the bowl and tray. They parted ways, and Zelda summoned the nearby buttered bread roll, where it sat forlorn on the floor, and took a bite out of it. At least they had been thoughtful enough to bring comfort food.

* * *

It was in her zealous attempts to prove her selflessness that Isabella had persisted, often through many tears, to visit James in the Hospital Wing. She was not his first visitor. His parents were in frequently, often until late in the evening, and both Lily and Albus had come to see him once. When she had asked, all they told him was that James was doing okay. Lorcan was almost as persistent as Isabella, but motivated out of a prodigious guilt, she was slightly more determined to see him than anyone else was. It was a part of her turned leaf, her fresh slate, her put-upon altruism. Isabella was convinced that nothing would be right again until she saw and spoke to James.

In her mind, she could trace the entire disaster back to her infraction with Andy Zabini; if only she had been smart enough to go and meet James as promised. Maybe they would have moved on quickly from the Three Broomsticks or maybe she would have been there with him when it all went down. Either way, Isabella was convinced that if she had chosen to be with James and not Zabini, the former man would not have been in such a state.

He was sitting in one of the Hospital Wing beds, feet where the pillow should be, writing in a leather bound diary in big, scratchy handwriting. When Isabella pulled the curtain aside, James looked up. Surprise danced across his eyes. He turned to a blank page, as if to mask what was there before.

"Hi," she said, bouncing a little on her heels. Usually his habit.

"Hannah lifted the no visitor rule?"

"She thinks you're…ready."

"I've been ready for a while," James replied. "Are you ready though?"

Isabella hesitated nervously. "For what?"

James shrugged, jabbing his quill into the paper so that it squirted blots of ink.

"What are you writing?" Isabella asked, gesturing at the diary.

"A suicide note," James said, very straight. He stared at Isabella's wide eyes for a moment before grinning. "Could you imagine? They got me out of there and then I kill myself? Merlin, they'd lose their minds."

"That's not…" Isabella licked her lips, feeling very wary. "James."

"Yeah, I know. Albus said not to muck around about that because Rose went nuts and the whole school thought she offed herself. Rose never would though. Neither would I. Not in our nature."

"That's good," Isabella said weakly.

"Well, good or bad depending on your perspective. I might think it's very unfortunate that it's not in our nature to off ourselves. Certainly would make things a fair bit easier if I could, wouldn't it?"

Isabella wasn't entirely sure what she had expected from him. Rumour was it that James had lost his marbles somewhat. Maybe he would have sat in stony silence. Or yelled at her in aggressive profanities, frothed at the mouth, rocked back and forth, attempted to attack her, drool like a baby. She had not expected this. His chattiness, his cool morbidity.

"How have you—how are you?" Isabella tried. "Really?"

James tilted his freckled face toward her. "How do you expect me to answer that?"

Isabella shook her head a little, not knowing, not understanding how to fill his blanks. He seemed to take pity on her vacuity.

"I missed the funeral," he said. "I really feel bad about that. I wasn't in a state for it, but I regret it. Apparently there weren't any bodies buried or anything."

"No," Isabella agreed. "No bodies."

"She's—" James shuddered slightly. "They probably still have her head over the bar. They had the street mined, you know. I remember an explosion going off but at the time I didn't really take it in."

"The whole street is still mined," Isabella elaborated.

"That's why they couldn't rescue us. Where did Drummond go during the bombing?"

Isabella shook her head in some confusion.

"Everywhere," James replied. He cracked a grin. "Do you get it?"

Isabella did, but she didn't laugh.

* * *

Gryffindor usually played Hufflepuff in the second week of March, but with the calamities that had swept through the school like a hurricane, the game ended up taking place on the first weekend of April. The stadium was packed to the rafters—not only was the entire school in attendance, but also all the residents of Hogsmeade who were in desperate need of entertainment. No one really seemed to be dressed in team colours. The houses sat scrambled in the seats, Gryffidnor and Hufflepuffs milling together among civilians for the first time in years. Those who had family in the crowd, parents or siblings, sat together.

Neither team seemed to care about winning. Even Lorcan, zealous in his love for Quidditch, was rather lacklustre. His pep talk consisted of "Let's get this over with," and ended with a warning look at Albus.

The Gryffindors mounted their brooms. The Hufflepuff captain, Maggie Lang, met Lorcan in the centre of the pitch.

" _A fine day for flying, our two teams are squaring off and the Captains are about to shake hands. For anyone who isn't aware, Lang and Scamander used to date in fifth year. Let's hope today's match lasts longer than their relationship did._ "

Lorcan wheeled about in mid-air, almost sliding off his broom. He squinted up towards the commentator's box, squinting his eyes. He glared over at Albus and Lily, raising both his arms in an aggressive inquisition. They shrugged back just as stunned.

"What the _hell_?" Lorcan mouthed. He shook his head, steadied his broom and moved towards the Hufflepuff Captain. Maggie's face was a bright pink. The whistle blew.

" _Imogen Abercrombie is subbing in for yours truly. It's a shame that the team isn't sporting it's usual Potter triad. I may be fit enough to jabber away but certainly not to dangle from precarious, risk-taking heights. Abercrombie passes to Finnigan—intercepted by Tallulah Hornby, Hufflepuff has possession. Scamander lobs a Bludger her way but she weaves around and…looks like she's going to shoot!"_

Albus tried to tune out James' voice, his head ringing a little at the sound of it, bright and chirpy and magnified through the microphone. Tallulah sped towards him. He hadn't known her name before, but they had played a dozen matches against each other in the years gone by. Tallulah who had sat behind the bar with them, knees to her chin. Albus gripped his head.

" _This isn't the time for PTSD, mate_ ," James said callously through the speakers. " _Ah, Albus catches it. Always did have quick reflexes, didn't he? Look at that, he seems to be gesturing quite offensively in this direction."_

Lang took possession of the ball again. The crowd inched to the edges of their seats. Imogen intercepted. She charged towards the goalpost and with a forceful throw, scored.

" _Merlin, she's got something to prove, doesn't she. Ten to Gryffindor—hold on! Ah, as much as mum refuses to admit it, Lily takes after my father, look at her go—is that a Snitch she's spotted?"_

Lily was speeding towards the other end of the pitch when, quite out of nowhere, a Bludger sent her hurtling towards the ground. The audience cried out in unison. Hufflepuff's Seeker got the Snitch. The game was over.

 _"_ _I really don't ask for much,"_ James said sadly. " _But I'm still disappointed_."

* * *

Rose had missed four scheduled counsellor appointments. It was not lost on Scorpius. No amount of acting cool, no amount of pleading, no amount of hard words would convince Rose to go. She was impassive, stoic, refusing to budge.

The added tension was that Scorpius was one of the few people who had access to seeing Rose on the regular, which meant he was bombarded with questions and queries. The entire Weasley-Potter clan would pounce on him in the halls. Roxanne would drum him with a series of "What does her mood seem like? How has she been?" at the end of every prefect meeting; Lily and Hugo would follow Scorpius like a shadow between classes, sometimes even waiting outside his classroom door; worse still, Hermione had approached him once or twice with suggestions or coaxing advice, telling him to give her copies of his class notes because, "nothing motivates Rose more than missing homework!" But none of it was working, of course it wasn't. Why would it? He had nothing to report other than her building depression, her exhausting bouts of tears late into the night, where she was tightly pressed into his body, cradled in his arms as he shook her out of nightmares. Scorpius never said a word about any of this.

Whenever he had Defence Against the Dark Arts, Harry would catch his eyes upon entry and give him a little nod. It was Harry, who had been spending his evenings with James Sirius Potter, who never once asked about Rose. Whenever he saw Scorpius, it was only ever strict professor-like platitudes.

"Professor Potter," Scorpius would say, his voice steely and tense.

"All good, Mr Malfoy?"

But still, Malfoy would interpret that as somehow being a question after Rose too, even if indirect, and would just press his lips in a firm line in reply.

Still, despite his past aversion for the class, Professor Potter had regained Scorpius' interests in Defence. It was an hour where his body was completely engaged, leaving no room for thought. While the methodical nature of Potions was calming, and getting his hands dirty during Herbology put him at ease, there were too many moments to pause, where his mind would drift to unpleasant places. Defence classes were different; they were brutally physical, sometimes exhausting, and almost always practical. His brain and body were busy. On the days they had Defence, he would hit his pillow and sleep.

Professor Potter, as always, had pushed all the desks out to the walls. The classroom felt larger like this, the dragon skeleton hanging above their heads unusually loftier. Harry took up that space as if it belonged to him, sitting casually on the desk beneath the blackboard as if it were a throne, and the class waited patiently in front of him. The Slytherins had first been weary being instructed by _the_ Harry Potter, infamous in their family circles, but not anymore. They stayed quiet, wide-eyed and rapt with tension.

"We've been focusing a lot on Defense lately, but it's time to start thinking offensively. Today, we start practicing nonverbal spells."

Harry pointed at the dragon skeleton, which gave a shuddery little role of its spine, as if to illustrate the point. Everyone jumped.

"What's the advantage of a nonverbal spell?"

Mary Boot and Sonia Selwyn raised theirs hand. Harry's eyes skated over Scorpius before he nodded to Boot.

"Your opponent doesn't know what sort of magic you are about to cast."

"A point to Ravenclaw. Anything else?"

Isabella spoke out of turn, "You get a few seconds advantage if you're the first to attack."

"A point to Slytherin, too. Anything else?"

Everyone stopped to really think, their faces puzzling it over for what they could have missed. Harry always started lessons like this—not to push a pop quiz on them, but to force them into the habit of thinking strategically. When no one had come up with an answer, Harry made direct eye contact with Scorpius.

"You can cast a spell inaudibly while hidden or invisible," he said. "So you don't give away your position."

"Excellent, another point to Slytherin," Harry said. He clapped his hands together. "Pair up. One of you needs to jinx the other without speaking. The other person has to defend himself or herself without speaking. First to do it wins ten points for their House."

Isabella ended up pairing with Sonia, Zabini with Boot, so Scorpius tapered over to Alice Lim. She squinted at him distrustfully but then shrugged.

It was difficult for the entire class to stop their lips from moving. Harry was quick to berate anyone who mimed their incantations—"Keep your mouth _shut_ , Corner!"—but Scorpius could distractedly hear Zabini whispering his jinxes feverishly under his breath. Alice was growing frustrated, slashing her wand through the air, while Scorpius waited warily for something to hit him.

"Focus on the incantation in your mind, really hold the effect of the spell there before you try cast it," Harry said, weaving throughout the pairs. He stopped to fix Mary Boot's stance.

Alice huffed in growing frustration. "Keep going," Scorpius encouraged, but his voice was flat and she must have taken it as a taunt because her next spell was accidentally verbal.

" _Petrificus Totalus._ "

As soon as she had muttered, Scorpius flung up a Shield Charm as if batting away a fly. His partner was completely surprised.

"You just did it," she blinked.

"Ten points to Slytherin," Harry said quietly. He rounded behind Alice so that he, too, was facing Scorpius. "Try that offensively, now."

Without saying a word, only with the incantation clear in his mind, Scorpius threw a full-body bind curse back at Alice. It was immediately effective. Harry grinned, tapping Alice on the head with his wand with a nonverbal counter-jinx.

"Merlin," their Professor said. "I wasn't expecting anyone to pick up nonverbal spells so quickly."

But Scorpius wasn't surprised; he was always adept at leaving things left unsaid.

* * *

 **A/N: H** **ow could I leave you on a cliffhanger like that? Truthfully,** **I've been super busy between Honours and work, so I finally had time to carve out a bit of writing.** **I tried to give this a proof read, but accept my typos as a gift to you!**

 **There's lots of fluff (angsty fluff) in here, so hopefully you're all happy. We're actually incredibly close to the end (yay!) of this volume. Hang in there folks, review and send love, I eat it all up as motivation.**

 **Happy August my darlings x**


	20. Chapter Twenty

—CHAPTER TWENTY—

The softest lips touched her collarbone, then her cheek, then her brow bone. Victoire kept her eyes closed a little longer. It was easy to feel at rest in the thick, musty blankets of Dragomir's bed, the fur skin that draped over the headboard. A too-warm air made her musky with sweat, for the nights were freezing but the sunrise always brought warmth with it, slanting through the single window. Teddy's fingers trailed down her hips then strayed to the scar that puckered her collarbone.

"Is it super weird that we're staying with Dragomir?" Teddy asked.

"No," Victoire laughed, squeezing her eyes shut tighter. "Is it weird for you?"

"Not weird, exactly. Kinda intimidating. All these animal skin carpets are a little scary."

She hummed lightly; his fingers drawing soft trails over her collarbone again. It made her skin tingle.

"Is this where—you know—you got it on with him? In this heap of animal skins? Like a caveman and cavewoman?"

His voice was just toying with her, filled with mirth, but Victoire felt obliged to point out that they had never had sex.

"Yes, yes, I know. You didn't have sex, you just did everything _but_ have sex. Which actually leaves a great deal to the imagination, you know? I mean, did you…er…pet his dragon? Or was it a bit more—well—"

"Stop," she groaned, pulling a pillow over her head.

"I'm just saying, he's just such a big bloke, you know? How would that even _work_?"

Victoire finally opened her eyes, only to burst into giggles. Teddy had blown up his arms and chest like balloons, sporting the physique of an oversized bodybuilder. He looked so ridiculous with his pointed, blue haired head perched atop his enormous shoulders that it took her some minutes to regain her breath.

"What?" Teddy frowned. "Not manly enough? Hold on."

He feigned concentration, before a shagpile growth of hair spurted from his chest. Victoire bit her hand to contain her laughter—trying to quiet down.

They liked to say that they had moved out of Adam and Krishna's place because they couldn't stand how lovey dovey the new couple were, but in reality, they were _kicked ou_ t because _they_ were so incredibly loud. Whether they were washing their clothes, cooking a meal, doing the dishes or having sex, Victoire and Teddy brought such volume that even her oldest friend could not tolerate the ruckus. Dragomir, on the other hand, only met them with stoic silences.

The nest of blankets still smelt of sex and sweat from the nights they were up late, breathing heavy, trying to stay quiet in their hush of pleasure and passion. Dragomir had kindly offered his house to them, fitted with a Spartan spare room. It contained its animal skin bed and a chest of drawers and nothing else. Teddy shrunk his body back to its usual size and collapsed beside Victoire again, staring at the cracked ceiling. They had only been staying there a week, but the room now smelled heavily of their mixed scents, closed off with only a single window that did not open.

With the Ministry fallen, they could technically return to the United Kingdom. There were no border controls. But Charlie was having trouble communicating with the Order. He had been in touch with Bill, who explained there was a blockade in Diagon Alley and that Hogwarts was in a complete lockdown with almost no communication in or out. The situation seemed to precarious to enter blind, so Teddy and Victoire were extending their stay in Romania a little while longer. Whenever they were in a humorous mood, they newly weds would joke it was a very extended honeymoon—over two months felt decadent, made them relish the cold April days that felt like London but the strange, rugged landscape that felt so foreign.

When Victoire got out of the shower, Teddy was cooking an omelette beside Dragomir, who dwarfed him in the kitchen. Since returning from Australia, Victoire had noticed Teddy had gone off meat—but he seemed happier since, his diet more wholesome and green, and as he now did the vast majority of the cooking, she didn't mind. It was a nice change from their earlier days living out of home, where he either ate out or starved. He chatted absently to Dragomir as the bigger man munched on a hunk of bread.

"Today we go to mountain," he said, nodding to Victoire to acknowledge her presence. "Cull day."

"We're doing a cull?" Victoire asked. "And you want to bring me?"

"You are best with fighting dragon," Dragomir growled. "Sylvia ask for you."

Teddy passed Victoire her omelette, fork and knife on the edge of the plate. "Have there been dragon sightings? Why the cull all of the sudden?"

"No sightings, no," Dragomir said, his face mincing as he struggled to explain. " _Am găsit capcane_ , how you say? Traps," he said, bringing his enormous hands together, his fingers curled.

"Goblin traps?" Victoire clarified.

He nodded.

* * *

There was a unanimous sigh of relief when Rose finally surfaced from her bedroom, dressed in something other than pyjamas, and took to the Hospital Wing for her counsellor session with Hannah. Everyone was optimistically cheery in the common room as she passed them, pointedly saying hello or wishing her a good morning. It was the start of April, she had been submerged for a month, but everyone pretended like she had just been missing for a week because of a head cold.

If it were really up to her, she would not have attended the counsellor session at all. The surrender of her pride was only due to Hannah stopping the stream of sleeping tonics that were delivered to her dormitory. There was nothing addictive in these tonics, they were merely relaxants, but Rose felt deprived.

So, she was there unwillingly, dragging her feet. She made no effort to appear ready for human contact—her frizzy hair was matted, her skin porous from spending so much time in the damp of the Slytherin dungeons. Hannah didn't seem to mind the lack of enthusiasm.

"Good morning, Rose. Thanks for coming."

Scorpius had mentioned that there were Honking Daffodils on Hannah's windowsill, but there were none there. Rose was filled with a bitter disappointment in this, as if she had come all this way to see the daffodils and the show had been cancelled.

"I know you've needed this time for yourself," Hannah said sympathetically, "but I think it's important that we chat about everything that's happened."

Maybe she had moved them or maybe they had died. Rose returned her attention to Hannah, blinking a few times.

"Everything feels wrong," Rose said, her voice hoarse. "It's like food has no taste. And I can't tell what time of day it is."

"Getting out of the Slytherin dungeons will alleviate a lot of that," Hannah encouraged. "As will talking about what's been bothering you."

Rose didn't think that was the case at all.

"The school's gone back to classes?"

"Yes."

"And apparently Defence Against the Dark Arts is compulsory now?"

"Yes. It will be the only subject that is not graded."

Rose scoffed a little at the idea of grades. She asked another question.

"We can't get on or off the grounds can we? That's why they set up tent city."

Hannah was clearly surprised for Rose's line of questioning, but tried to stay warm and professional. "The tents are just housing the Hogsmeade townsfolk until the crisis is sorted out."

"If it's sorted out."

The windowsill looked empty. For some reason, she had imagined it filled with a wooden box of dancing flowers. The image had bloomed before her mind's eye, and now, it was fixated on the emptiness. Hannah picked up a quill, as if she wanted to make notes or write a prescription. It was also an empty gesture. She couldn't contain her bitter disappointment.

"Rose, how are you coping in the wake of Meredith's death?"

A much more blunt question, aimed to try and hit her with the same bluntness she batted at Hannah. It didn't work. Rose shrugged.

"I'm just tired right now. It made me really tired."

"It's very normal to experience survivor's guilt after—"

"I don't," she said harshly, "feel guilty."

"How do you feel?"

"I just told you," Rose barked. "I feel _tired_."

The littlest sigh escaped Hannah, as if she were just as disappointed as Rose.

"Are you going to keep giving me my tonic now?"

"No," Hannah replied brusquely, jotting a date down on her diary. "But I think we should schedule another appointment."

* * *

Perhaps it was the cerulean blue hair, but Teddy looked frozen cold. His hands were buried deep in the pockets of his parker, lips trembling as they turned a lilac pink. Victoire was fitter than her husband—she had always been fitter, far more athletic, even in their school years—so she was patiently trying to shorten her strides so he could keep up.

"Come on, boy," Sylvia chided, tossing back her braid. She clicked her tongue, the way a farmer might cluck at their roosters, but the sound getting carried with the chill wind. "Keep up."

"Here that, Vic? Keep up?" Teddy panted, but with each step, a puff of breath came from his mouth like the steam of a dragon.

Victoire had wanted Teddy to come along. It was odd, because they usually had no issues doing their own thing when needed. And chasing down dragons was definitely Victoire's thing. But, since their wedding, she was less willing to stray from his side—even for the mundane activities, like returning the cleaning equipment to the barn or making dinner. While the sentiment was sweet, his exhaustion was beginning to suggest that it was better he stayed behind.

"It was around here," Charlie confirmed, taking his wand and laying it flat in his hand. It twisted like the needle of a compass.

Victoire and Teddy finally caught up. Sylvia slid Teddy's pack off her back.

"Please tell me we found a dragon," Teddy huffed. Victoire grinned, wrapping her arm tightly around his shoulder and rubbing it to create a little friction.

"You're a Hufflepuff, aren't you?" Charlie said as an aside, tucking his wand back into his belt-loop. "Aren't you unafraid of toil?"

"I love toil, I'll toil any time you want, mate," Teddy said, still puffing. "Toil isn't synonymous with climbing a mountain trail."

"It's too dangerous to fly up, especially with the wind," Sylvia supplied. "And Apparating is no good. The mountains sides are steep. You miss your arrival spot by a few metres and you may die."

"Dying does sound better than the stich I have right now," Teddy joked, raising his hands above his head to stretch.

"Your man is weak," Sylvia chuckled, thumping Victoire on the back.

"Charlie," Dragomir grunted, re-joining the group. In his glove, he held a handful of snow spotted with bright, crimson blood. He pointed further up the trail, where spots of blood and deep furrows carved through the thin layer of snow, so that the raw mud was visible beneath.

"Is it an injured dragon?" Victoire asked. She approached with the others.

"Hmm." Charlie did not look as if he was convinced by this theory, but he still followed the steep track of spotted blood up to an overhanging cliff-face. "One way to find out."

Incapable of handling the steep incline, the solution—and oh, it was a deeply humiliating one—was to carry Teddy on Dragomir's back. After much embarrassed protest, he capitulated. Victoire spent the whole time sniggering into her gloves, her husband's gangly legs dangling over the sides of Dragomir's enormous torso.

"This blood," Charlie said, leaning down to touch it where the trail ended, "isn't dragon blood."

"What do you think it is?" Sylvia asked.

They came to a halt. Dragomir squatted so Teddy could slide off his back. The ragged marks in the ground ended abruptly at the opening of a crevice, hardly more than a crack. Too small for a dragon to squeeze into. Charlie motioned for them to all arm themselves, then, he raised his own wand.

" _Homenum Revelio_ ," but nothing happened. Charlie tried a second time, " _Kobalos Revelio_."

On this second spell, the rock face shifted like a mirage, revealing a spacious rock landing in its place. A goblin was huddled there, bent double and rigid with pain, a large metal trap clenched over both his feet. He screamed at having been found, picking up a rock and launching it at the group of humans, the attempt at protection very feeble.

"Be careful," Charlie said, raising his hand in warning to the others.

"That trap is one of theirs," Sylvia said roughly.

"He's hurt," Teddy said, rounding in front of the others. Dragomir grabbed him harshly and pulled him back, almost knocking him off his feet. Everyone jostled closer to Teddy, and the goblin cringed away from them in fear.

"This could be a trap for us," Victoire said, glancing around them.

"I really think he's hurt."

"It could be staged," Charlie agreed.

Teddy huffed in frustration, pushed past them and tentatively kneeled in front of the goblin. Then, to everyone's surprise, including the goblin's, he spoke Gobbledegook.

" _Jak se heter_?"

" _Venn_ ," the goblin replied, still startled.

Teddy placed a hand on his own chest, fingers splayed flat. "Teddy," he said.

They jabbered in Gobbledegook for a minute, Teddy crouched with his hands on his knees, nodding empathetically. The goblin was bald, ruddy-faced with a desperately but genial air, deeply relieved that someone could speak his language. After another few sympathetic responses, Teddy got back to his feet.

"His name is Venn. They were supposed to be bringing back a Romanian Longhorn. The King hunts dragons for pleasure—after drugging and chaining them of course—" Teddy added, with some disgust. "Venn is one of the King's hunters, he manufactures traps. He got caught in his own trap when they were setting up and the others left him."

"One of the King's _goblins_?" Charlie repeated.

"How can we trust him?" Sylvia demanded.

"I really don't think he's lying," Teddy shrugged. "And anyway, he has no weapons. He's been abandoned."

Everyone seemed unwilling to help, bouncing from foot to foot, expecting an ambush. Teddy stared at them all with mounting incredulity until, finally, his eyes found his wife. She nodded, grim but resolute, and approached with her wand back in her belt.

Venn spoke to Teddy again, low and quick, consulting over the double spring trap.

"We've got to be careful," Teddy said, kneeling beside Venn. "This could easily take his legs off."

"There isn't a way to just open it?"

"It's goblin metal, magic won't work on it."

Teddy touched the goblin's bleeding leg, where the teeth of the trap were several inches deep

"We'll need to be prepared to heal these wounds as soon as he's out. He'll bleed to death otherwise."

Victoire nodded firmly. She took one end of the trap and Teddy took the other. The goblin closed his eyes very tightly. Everyone watched on, milling as bystanders. Teddy counted to three, and on the last number, they pulled.

Venn let out a strangled scream. They hardly even moved the metal jaws open. They tried again, straining, yet still nothing. Teddy leaned back, puffing hard. He turned to Dragomir, where he stood mute, and gestured furiously for him to come over.

"You could do this in a minute," he said, growing mad. "Help him."

"Teddy," Victoire said in a warning voice.

Dragomir grunted, but approached, his feet like sleighs through the thin sheet of snow, spotted with blood and mud. Both Victoire and Teddy moved away, withdrawing their wands. With his two enormous hands, Dragomir pried the dragon trap open, then tossed it aside, like it was a sheet of cardboard. The others verged on Venn, casting healing spells and producing bandages around his thighs, Teddy gripping his hand tightly. The goblin looked near to fainting from the pain.

"How does it look?" Charlie asked, kneeling down.

"He'll probably have permanent nerve damage. Let's get him down to the Sanctuary."

Charlie hesitated then nodded.

"You speak fluent Gobbledegook?"

"Basically," Teddy said, wincing. "Badly."

"Alright. We get him down to the Sanctuary, heal him so that he keeps his legs and then you're interrogating him."

* * *

Her first day back at classes provided a numbing sort of routine that Rose welcomed. She understood why Scorpius was so enthusiastic about getting back into the coursework. There was a part of her brain that completely switched off in Herbology or Ancient Runes, where she could just stare at a plant or a page for whole minutes at a time without needing to think. Unlike the last month, where she kept track of the agonising trundle of time that marched by as she huddled in her bed, classes made the days feel shorter.

It was not lost on her how the school was being run. Defence Against the Dark Arts was now compulsory for all students across all years; those taking History mentioned their detailed revision of the goblin rebellions; Professor Sharma was preparing the sixth and seventh years to harvest deadly _full-grown_ mandrakes; Flitwick ran a very specific series of workshops on Healing spells, which Albus was quite enthusiastic about.

Potions was the one class she loathed unlike any other, and here the feel of morbid preparation rested the heaviest. Bellucci had them brewing Baneberry Potions, the Death-Cap Draught, Malevolent Mixtures and anything else with a sinister name.

And Bellucci, with her matronly bun and daintily downcast features, made Rose's skin crawl. She walked from desk to desk, black leather notebook in hand, occasionally stopping to rest a hand on Scorpius' shoulder and murmur something low beside his ear. If Rose could get away with poisoning her, she would have. Bellucci, with her selfish frivolity. That day, down at Hogsmeade. That day, all of it rested on Bellucci. She was as beautiful and greedy as Death, but only Rose saw it.

She began the same old tired tune, hissing to Scoprius at any given chance, "I don't trust her."

"Rose, you need to let this go. We can't go making unnecessary enemies with people who are on our side," he sighed, lacing on his Quidditch boots.

"She's _not_ on our side, Scorpius. She's responsible for—she's—"

"Don't even go down that line of reasoning. We're all responsible," Scorpius snapped.

Rose crossed her arms tightly, her agitation growing. It was his wilful ignorance that irked her. Scorpius had always preached against such ignorance, mocked her for her naive political perspectives, and now here he was, too blind to see himself being manipulated.

"Why is she so fixated on you, anyway?" Rose said, changing her argument. "Why does she always want to speak with you after class? Or hold you back after Alchemy? Writing in her little notebook."

"She's just interested in my project."

"She's grooming you."

"For greatness," Scorpius cut in, pointing a warning finger at Rose. "I'm not an idiot, you know."

"She's trying to turn you into her."

"Why does that scare you so much, Rose?" He decided to drop it, shaking his head to dismiss the matter, which he knew would just come up again later. He bent down to retrieve his broomstick from under his bed. "Are you sure you don't want to come down to Quidditch try outs? You don't even have to try out for the team. Maybe you'd just like to fly for a bit."

"No," she said, her voice grating.

Scorpius sighed again, through his nose, frustrated with her attitude. But endlessly patient, he only took a few steps forward and kissed the top of her forehead. Rose remained stony.

"See you after, then."

* * *

"Sorry about this," Teddy said, gesturing to the grimy barn, the chains on Venn's feet. They had brought bags of ice to lie across his healing legs, which was some recompense. Teddy felt sure that this goblin wasn't lying, and whether he was one of the King's servants or not, he deserved decency.

"It's fine," Venn replied, grateful more than anything. "I thought I was going to die up there."

"Is it common for goblins to leave each other behind like that?"

"Once, a long time ago, it was not. But now, yes, it is very common."

"What is he saying?" Charlie demanded, stepping away from the door.

Teddy turned back, switching to English, his face plaintive. "I'll translate for you at the end, shall I? Better to not keep interrupting him."

"I am one of the original royal hunters," the goblin explained. "I have been working for the royal household since I was a young boy. Look."

He tapped the back of his head with one long, nobly finger. Teddy got out of his rickety stool and peered around at the back of his skull, where a blue tattoo was inked into his neck: A three-point crown, with a sword and axe crossed over it.

"You speak good Gobbledegook," Venn complimented gruffly as Teddy took his seat.

"Thank you," Teddy said, appeased. "You don't understand any English?"

"Once, I could speak it very basically. Things like, _hello,"_ he said, the word rough and elongated. "But it is forbidden now, in our Kingdom, to learn or speak any language other than Gobbledegook."

Teddy squinted at Venn for a moment, trying to recall all that he had learnt about the Goblin Kingdom in his time as a spy—not that working as a spy had ever really suited Teddy. He hadn't picked up very much, nothing really _useful_. There was the simple fact that citizens could not use a goblin's name once he was King; he was simply referred to as the King, until he died and was given a final epitaph.

"Why was English forbidden?"

"All contact with your world was forbidden. The Goblins hate humans. Loathe you. Either out of fear or envy. This King hates you most."

This, Teddy _did_ know. His days working in the Ministry alongside the monarchist goblins had clued him in. Their King, who had taken the throne from Morgana, was greedy and power-hungry and distrustful of all humans. Still, he had to pose the follow up, "Then why send in your militia? Your advisor? All your diplomats?"

Venn raised his brow, his black his glittering in the shifting light that beamed through the barn's cracked roof. He placed his long fingers on top of the melting ice, clutching at the bags. He had the air of someone about to give up a very important secret. Although he understood nothing, even Charlie leaned in.

"The King struck a deal with your Minister—with Gladstone."

"For wands?" Teddy asked, confused.

"No, no," Venn slashed a hand through the air, dismissing the idea. "Why would we need wands with swords? No. Something better."

"What could be better?"

"A Philosopher's Stone."

He said it in English, not Goblin. A Philosopher's Stone. Charlie took several steps forward, his feet crunching on the brittle hay floor. There was nothing in the world to suggest that this had been it all along, the cause, the reason. This was why the Goblin King pushed so hard for goblin rights, for a role in the wizarding government. This was the truth behind it all.

"Then why would the militia turn?" Teddy asked, struggling to find the right words in this foreign tongue. "Why would they kill Gladstone?"

"Because," Venn said, his face very dark. "The goblin who would want our King to reign forever is a fool."

* * *

The portrait of the Fat Lady stared resolutely at Rose, expression very wary, as she waited outside the Gryffindor's portrait hole. She jingled her foot anxiously. After about ten minutes, she saw the youngest Finnigan—Simon, same year as Lily and Hugo—approaching the common room with several library books in hand.

"Hey, Simon," Rose said, trying to adjust her features in what she remembered friendly people looked like, "Could you do me a favour?"

He hesitated, freckled face slightly hesitant, then nodded.

"Could you please grab Albus for me? And tell him I'm up to no good."

"What?" he said, slightly alarmed.

"It's code. Could you just please do it?"

Simon must have delivered the message fairly quickly, probably frightened by what _up to no good_ meant. Albus joined her outside five minutes later, the Marauder's Map tucked into the inside of her robes.

"I'm guessing this is what you wanted me to bring along," he said, tapping the parchment.

She started walking back down the corridor, heading towards the staircases. Albus picked up the pace to stay beside her. The came to a halt at one of the landings, waiting for a staircase that led to the first floor to twist around and join the hallway.

"So, what's this all about? Why the map?"

The staircase joined the language and they both stepped onto it. It began moving again as they descended it.

"I need to you help me break into Bellucci's office."

"Oh. Merlin, I wish you led with that."

"I just want to snoop around," Rose said, her hand gliding down the balustrade. A few of the portraits squinted at them in passing, their eyes suspicious. For Weasley and Potters roaming the halls after dark tended to lead to something amiss.

"So, we're not going to, like, poison her or something?"

"Don't be daft," Rose huffed as they reached the corridor to the dungeons. They came to a stop, ducking into an alcove behind a tapestry. Albus lit his wand. "You can't poison a potionsmaster anyway. She'd detect it."

"So you _did_ consider poisoning her."

Rose waved away the though and pressed her wand to the map, stating earnestly, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

Or, at least, Bellucci was up to no good and Rose was determined to find out what it was.

The both poured over the map. Bellucci was in her office, at her desk. There were no other staff members about. Rose furrowed her brow.

"You need to go in there and find a reason to get her out."

" _What_?"

"Any reason. Make something up. She likes you, you're one of her alchemy protégées. Tell her you need something from the potion storeroom. I'll only need a minute in there."

"Rose this is _insane_. We're already on thin ice, if we get caught—"

But Albus had not seen this much life in his cousin's eyes for over a month, and out of an obligation to keep it burning, her gave in with nothing more than a deep sigh.

"Fine. You take the map though. You have two minutes."

She nodded solemnly, squeezing his shoulder before Albus ducked back through the tapestry. Holding her breath, she watched as his dot moved into Bellucci's office, the pause there while he made up some excuse, and then they both departed down the hall, towards the potions classrooms. Rose took a deep breath and darted out from the alcove, sprinting to the office.

She had been in here for Bellucci's parties, but without the decadent decorations and dance floor, it seemed much smaller. She probably cast a charm to expand the space whenever she was hosting guests. Her desk was in slight disarray, just as she had left it moments before, a green reading lamp hovering over a bunch of papers, lighting up colourful phials of potions and casting her open notebook in a green glow.

There it was! Rose slid around the desk, opening the notebook and frenziedly looking through it for evidence—

 _Idea for Death Draught: Add moonseed to Draught of Living Death, stew for twice the length._

 _Experimental mix – potion No. 86 failed. Amend the following procedure…_

She flipped a few more pages feverishly, not knowing what she was looking for.

 _New Idea: use pennyroyal as key ingredient for Squib Potion._

 _Note: Experimental mix No. 105 - moonseed is causing the extreme cramping and vomiting, try herbal supplements - spines of lionfish + flobberworm mucus. Adapt pesticide potion ?_

Then, again and again:

 _Werewolf Cure Trial #7 - failed_

 _Werewolf Cure Trial #9 - failed_

 _Werewolf Cure Trial #11 - feailed_

 _Werewolf Cure Trial 13 – Success._

 _Possible Wolfsbane Potion – currently being improved._

 _Duration –_ _4 weeks brewing_ _/_ _6 weeks brewing_ _/ 8 weeks brewing_

 _Change of key ingredient: Boil Dittany with Wolfsbane before procedure._

 _Lasting cure – amend procedure & ingredients _

_On ninth trial, all previous failures. This time, changing the conditions of the…_

Rose blinked at this then glanced back at the Marauder's Map. They were already returning.

"Shit," she muttered under her breath, heart thumping in her ears. For a split second, she thought about taking the notebook with her—but no, that would be insane. She would get caught. Tossing the leather bound book back on the desk, Rose whizzed back out of the office, sprinting for the tapestry corridor and rounding the corner just as she heard Bellucci's heels and Albus' voice returning from the storerooms.

* * *

The living room crackled with the heat of the fire. It was overly warm with the shagpile rug and fur blanket thrown over the sofa. Teddy had made everyone hot chocolates in Dragomir's tiny kitchen, having picked up the cocoa sachets and other groceries from the village while everyone was busy with their new goblin guest. Following the interrogation, Adam had spent the rest of the afternoon carefully healing his wounds, rebinding them tightly, citing that his brother was a Healer and also a Muggle doctor—"he did it both," he said, deeply amused, although Venn followed nothing he said, "the Healer exams _plus_ medical school. Mental case." The goblin's English was so rudimentary that it was decided he would stay with Teddy, who could at least translate, which meant squeezing him into Dragomir's two-bedroom home.

The goblin sat on the armchair, nursing his hot chocolate, staring into the mixture with caution. He took a sip, his expression suggesting that he was expecting hot mud, but was pleasantly surprised as he pulled the ceramic mug away. " _Veldig brak_ ," he said. Teddy smiled warmly. _Very good._

Both Sylvia and Dragomir remained awkwardly on the sofa. Sylvia was a big woman—Teddy guessed she was just straddling six feet in height—but of course, Dragomir dwarfed her by comparison. Side by side on the sofa, the springs creaked against the floor.

"I think Venn should take our room," Teddy said. He then translated this so Venn would understand. He tried to disagree, but he insisted. " _You need a good night's sleep_ ," Teddy said, his words sounding strange. He hadn't spoken the goblin's language in a long time. He was rusty.

"Are you sure?" Sylvia asked.

Teddy nodded earnestly. "We'll take the sofa."

Dragomir nodded and stood. He moved off to the closet to collect more pillows. Sylvia also stood, grateful to be useful. She placed her hot chocolate carefully on the wooden stump that made up the coffee table, then walked to the guest room with her wand extending, clearly intending to make the bed anew. Since they had discovered the goblin's willingness to share information, they were being a lot more kind to him.

"Merlin," Victoire whispered quietly. "That room is a _mess_ , Teddy."

"It's fine," Teddy replied quietly.

"We should've at least cleaned up a little."

"It'll take us a sec to drag our bag in here."

Victoire's face was very pink. "We didn't clean the sheets and—and I think my knickers are hanging off the back of the door."

"Er…are they the nice lace ones or the granny ones?"

"The granny ones," she groaned.

"C'mon. I'm sure Sylvia is acquainted with the concept of sex. And granny knickers are comfortable. No need to be embarrassed."

She still swatted him, clearly embarrassed. Teddy shrugged, looking a little pink in the face too. They were only speaking loudly enough for Venn to hear, but he couldn't understand a word. He glanced between them both, hot chocolate balanced on his knees, his face fixed with an uncertain but pleasant smile.

"What if he tries to kill us in our sleep?" Victoire murmured, glancing nervously at Venn, who smiled at the eye contact.

"He won't," Teddy replied confidently. "Have some faith."

"All finished," Sylvia said, dropping the couple's duffle bag on the floor by the coffee table. She then shooed everyone out of their chairs, away from the sofa. With her wand, she moved the coffee table aside and transfigured the sofa into a small bed. Dragomir returned, dropping two pillows and (yet another) woolly animal skin on the sofa.

It was at first with confusion, then much gratitude, that Venn was shown to the guest room by Victoire and Teddy. She watched, amused and impressed, as Teddy jabbered away in Gobbledegook, sometimes pausing to search for the word he needed. Venn cautiously climbed beneath the sheets, unaccustomed to the size of the bed. Gently, they closed the door behind him.

"Did Sylvia leave?" Victoire asked.

"I dunno. I suppose."

They climbed into their newly made up bed, squished very close. The mounted head of a deer stared at them from a plaque on the wall.

"Creepy," Victoire acknowledged.

"This whole place has made me never want to eat meat again," Teddy acknowledged, squirming under it's empty stare.

Victoire snuggled closer to Teddy, pulling the fur blanket up to their noses as if to block out the rest of the world. Although the guest room had felt eerily empty, it was weirder sleeping in the middle of Dragomir's living room and kitchen. Leaving them bare and exposed in a stranger's home. They were quiet for a little while.

"This was where it happened," Victoire acknowledged, her voice very low. "On the sofa."

"You mean to tell me," Teddy said, matching her tone's sonority, "that you got frisky with Dragomir the giant on his sofa with a dead deer staring at you."

"I don't remember the deer," Victoire whispered, voice just as straight. "But maybe it was there. Watching on."

"Kinky," Teddy agreed.

They both grinned, unable to keep the joke going. It was very quiet, and in the living room, they felt very exposed. They both relinquished to sleep; no sex tonight, they agreed. It would be far too disrespectful, not on somebody else's sofa-turn-bed, in their host's living-room-slash-kitchen. In fact, they were too scared to carry out a whispered conversation in case they woke the other housemates. Settling into silence, they huddled closer together and closed their eyes, the exhaustion of the day lapping over their tired muscles. Then, they heard a murmur of voices, one male, one female, the groan of bedsprings.

Both Victoire and Teddy's eyes widened simultaneously, their mouths puckering as they held back their exclamations of surprise. They elbowed each other under their blanket and gestured towards Dragomir's locked door. The groaning mattress continued its requiem, muted by the door but still loud and strident in the otherwise silent night, the springs heaving with effort.

"Merlin," Teddy mouthed.

"I know."

"Sylvia?"

"I _know_ ," Victoire said in a muted scream.

"They're at it with a goblin in the other room!"

"Good for them, I suppose? I mean, it's nice. For them."

"Has this happened before?" Teddy whispered.

"I don't know—I honestly don't want to picture it."

"Ouch," he agreed, mock wincing. "You know, that could've been you."

"Shut up," Victoire breathed, battering his chest.

He grinned, wrapping an arm around her and bringing her closer. She snuggled closer into him, a cheeky grin on her face.

"Wanna get frisky on somebody's sofa with a dead deer watching?"

"You know exactly how to seduce me," Teddy agreed, leaning in to kiss her.

* * *

With a vehement tug, Draco Malfoy pulled back the tartan flap of the Granger-Weasley tent, sticking his head in so that his windswept ponytail fell in a tangle over his shoulder. Hermione looked up from the coffee table, where a wall of books surrounded her, and a glass bell jar sat with a frenetic looking ball of energy bouncing around inside. She glanced up at her unwelcomed visitor, her hair frazzled in dark eyes mad.

"Malfoy, you have a _protected_ mansion to live in, why are you here?"

"I want in."

"In?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows.

"I know that you are all having little meetings up in the school. I want in."

To emphasise the point, he placed his leg through the tent flap and closed it behind him. The wind continued to rattle the tent. Hermione dog-eared the page she was on.

"This isn't a Hogwarts committee board for you to dictate the school' extracurricular activities," Hermione snapped, all impatience and frizzy hair. "You do realise you are asking to join the Order of the Phoenix."

"Yes, I do realise. I appreciate not being patronised."

Hermione blinked in terse surprise. She uncrossed her legs and stood up.

"I honestly don't have the time for your drama—"

"I will give you whatever resources you need," he said in a clipped voice. "You may have any use of the gold we have stored in our manor. We are happy to help smuggle anyone out of the country if it comes to that. I am at your disposal," Draco said, gesturing his arms in a wide embrace. He then flattened them again to his sides, thinking better of it.

Hermione squinted at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"I beg your pardon?"

He seemed affronted that she did not immediately accept his offer. Hermione pursed her lips, distrustful.

"Why would you help us?"

"I'm not helping _you_ ," he snapped, rather vehement. "This isn't an attempt at redemption, Granger. I have a _family_ that I need to protect. And as tempting as it is to uproot us all and move to bloody Sweden, I don't believe that will be an option."

"And why's that?"

"Scorpius," he muttered, crossing his arms, "refuses to take to that idea. Believe me, Astoria and I have been trying."

"He won't flee with you both?"

"Escape," Draco corrected. "No, he will not."

Hermione smiled slowly, indulgent and proud, her dimples slicing like arrowheads into her cheeks. Her eyes were shrewd and sharp.

"Because of Rose," she finally said.

Draco did not look pleased by this, although he seemed to have come to the same conclusion. His face was set like stone. It could have cracked in two. It was very clear by that look of sheer disgust that he had failed to talk Scorpius out of staying. Hermione knew Scorpius—perhaps better than his own father did—and it would not be noble politics or a sense of valour to keep him here, in the middle of a battleground. It would be loyalty, to Rose. Rose, who Hermione knew, would stay to fight with stubbornness unrivalled by any other.

"I tried," Draco said, lowering his voice and stepping towards her, "I tried very hard to keep him away from her. Since first year. She had a terrible influence on him, even then. Contagious. Infecting him with this idiotic need to prioritise her wellbeing over himself. I tried very, very hard to keep him away from her because I wanted him to be safe."

"He loves her," Hermione said, her voice filled with warmth. "There's no inoculation for it."

Before he could respond, the tent flap opened again, a gingery grey head peeking through. Upon seeing their guest, Ron's ears went a bright crimson, like two crustaceans clinging to his head.

"What are you doing in my tent harassing my wife?"

"Oh, Draco was just here with a request to join the Order," Hermione said, very pleasantly.

"Merlin, that's something I never thought I'd here."

"I have my own people to protect, Weasel," Draco sneered.

"That's right, your little ferret family," Ron said, nodding empathetically. Hermione hid her smile behind her hand. "I'm surprised you haven't tried to run."

"Scorpius wants to remain here and fight," Hermione said, smiling slowly, "like Rose."

"Ah," Ron grinned, crossing so that he stood beside his wife. "Well, don't you worry. Looks like she's already been a good influence on him."

* * *

"You snuck into her office?" Scorpius repeated, outraged.

"Did you not hear a word of what I just said? She's stealing _your_ Alchemy notes! She's going to use _your_ trial to get another stupid international potion award."

"You're being paranoid."

"She's ripping off your Wolfsbane trial! Are you _blind_?"

Scorpius rounded on Rose, his face pink with anger. He held up a hand to silence her.

"The way you have been behaving lately is uncalled for, Rose. And you certainly should not have dragged Albus into it. Whatever petty revenge plot you want to carry out on Bellucci, it's ridiculous. It won't change anything."

"Replacing Meredith on the Quidditch team isn't going to turn things back to the way they were either, you prick."

Scorpius didn't respond, his face infuriatingly impassive, patient. A part of Rose desperately wanted to grab him by the throat and squeeze him until something came out—a strangled cry, a stream of tears, profanity, blood, sweat. He was a wall, a rock. She had to squeeze her hands into fists to stop them.

"You're being immature," he said, with quiet candour.

"You're not even _listening to me_. There were all sorts of things in that potion book! Experimental brews, weird poisons—you can't just turn a blind eye because you _fancy_ her!"

"Listen to yourself," Scorpius threw his hands up in disbelief. "I think you need another follow up appointment with Hannah."

"I'm not crazy," Rose fumed, picking up his pillow and throwing it at him with all her strength. Scorpius caught it in one arm. "Why won't you just _help_ me—"

"Are we having pillow fights?" Zabini said, lumbering into the bedroom with an air of superiority. He grabbed his towel and headed towards the bathrooms. "Just to remind you, this isn't the girl's dormitory."

Scorpius opened his mouth to argue but Rose raised a hand, this time silencing him. She tugged her fingers through her knotty hair. "I'll go," she said.

"Make an appointment," Scorpius insisted.

Rose only grunted in reply, snapping the door shut behind her.

* * *

Astoria and Draco began attending the Order meetings, something that everyone was uncomfortable with. The only person who didn't seem to mind, at all, was Bellucci, who went out of her way to sit beside them, shake their hands and ask Astoria whether her earrings were a family heirloom. The exchange felt jarring considering the context.

"Diagon Alley is well protected, but essentially also in siege," Ron said. "Unlike us, they do have access to the Muggle World though the pub, which means they won't run out of food."

"Are we running out of food?" Professor Tate asked, a little alarmed.

"We will be soon," Hagrid grunted, shuffling in the corner where he had to stoop to avoid a candle chandelier. "Yeh wouldn't realise it, but Hogwarts isn't completely self sufficient. We don't grow all our food, yeh know."

"How's the gateway coming," Ron asked with added urgency, nervous by the idea of starvation. Hermione huffed, shuffling through notes.

"Every solution I've come up with it too weak," she said, chewing on her cheek. She continued to flip through the papers. "No one's opened a magical gateway with such a big distance between the two locations. It should be possible but it's never been done and if things went wrong…"

"What's the worse case scenario?" Neville asked.

Hermione dropped her notes and mimed and explosion with her hands.

"Comforting," Draco agreed.

"We're talking about manipulating time and space," Hermione snapped. "I'm not an Unspeakable, I haven't worked magic like this before on such a big scale."

"What's our other options?" Harry asked.

"Well, we could try to do a variant on portkeys but that would be incredibly inconvenient if we need to mass evacuate everyone. Also, portkeys will require a weakening of Hogwarts' defences."

"I guess keep working on the space time gateway explosion," Neville sighed, scratching his forehead. "I mean, has anyone else ever been able to get into Hogwarts without weakening its Defensive spells?"

Draco placed his hands flat on the table, leaning forward toward them with a look of utter contempt. "Yes. You idiots. I did."

Everyone swung their heads towards him, blinking in surprise.

"Don't tell me you have all forgotten the climax of my schooling career," Draco drawled. "I got Death Eaters into the castle with—"

"Vanishing Cabinets," Hermione cried, calling a hand to her head. "Of course!"

"All the vanishing cabinets in Hogwarts were destroyed," Harry piped up.

"How hard is it to create a new set?"

"Well, it was hard to repair them," Draco drawled. "But if I could do that as a sixteen year old, I'm sure that the brightest witch of our age could manage it now."

"Why stop at cabinets?" Bellucci suggested. "Go bigger. Why not a whole room? We could evacuate more people."

"The bigger the object, the more difficult it is," Draco said. "But it's possible."

"Alright," Hermione said, placing her wand to the pile of notes on her desk and setting them alight. The cinders smoked into ashes. "Alright. Draco, you're coming with me to the library and pulling down every book you used to fix your cabinets."

* * *

In Potions class, Rose sat between the boys. Albus on one side, Scorpius on the other, like bodyguards. They had been having quiet conspiracy talks in her absence, she was certain, for whenever she came up to them during breaks or after class, they fell silent in a nervous hush, words choked off midsentence. They were like chaperones, walking with her, sitting by her, eating beside her, never once leaving her side, babysitting her with a furtive air—"Did you eat any of the vegetable broth, Rose?" or "When did you last go for a walk outside, Rose?"—and she itched to scream, to curse them, to get something from them other than patronising kindness.

In Potions, they were especially on guard. Afraid she may so or do something to Bellucci, somehow disrupt the class. Of course, Rose was perfectly behaved. Soundless. Unassuming. A quiet rage boiled in her like the cauldron of poison that sat on their desk, seething and simmering, a lethal concoction in the making, but still contained. Bellucci walked from table to table, drawn and mournful, the way she had been since the funeral. Since a child died on her watch. Rose gripped her cutting knife with white knuckled fingers and held her breath.

When the class was over, and they were asked to bottle their potions, Rose furtively slipped a flask of the poison into her school robes. Both boys were so busy packing up their instruments that they didn't notice. They were expecting Rose to bubble over, to explode, but she was biding her time, carefully.

Whenever Stella Bellucci caught her piercing glare, she hastily looked away.

Rose lay on Scorpius' bed, her feet curled around one of the bedposts, listening to the lap of water against the window and the splash of water from the shower. Her brain was absorbed with Bellucci, a sinister version of Scorpius' fixation, her mind like a closed fist around her willowy neck. If she weren't so vain, so self-engrossed, so blasé, would Meredith have been in Hogsmeade? Would she still be alive? Rose gnawed on this bone, dug and dug so it felt like she was trying to dig Meredith out of the grave. The more she dug, the deeper her mind went, the more certain she was that Bellucci had blood on her hands. Blood in her cauldron.

Rose's blood, boiling.

The taps squeaked to a halt, the water stopped. Rose let her legs drop heavily onto the quilt. Zabini came out of the bathroom, his towel wrapped loosely around his hips and drops of water clinging to his curls. He was unsurprised to find Rose there, for she hung around the sixth year's dormitory like a ghost most nights. Instead, he flicked the emerald green curtains around the bed in greeting.

"He's disappeared. Probably working on his potions," Zabini said.

Rose nodded, picking at her thumb. Zabini sighed, obliged to engage. He flicked the curtain again.

"Are you okay?"

"Sure," she said, not very convincingly.

"I can go find him if you want."

"I know where he is," Rose said.

"Merlin," he huffed, leaning against the bedpost. "You can tell things are bad when Malfoy is more lively to be around than you are."

Rose gave Zabini a very sarcastic, very false smile. She let it drop a moment later, raising her arms over her head.

"It's been, what, almost ten months since you two first got together?"

He could see her counting the months behind her eyes, checking that he was right. After coming to the same conclusion, she nodded slowly. It dawned across her face, the realisation that so much time had passed without her noticing.

"How are you going with that?"

"Yeah, I dunno," Rose shrugged. Zabini raised his eyebrows. "Really," Rose frowned, "I don't. I haven't had time to even process Scorpius and I."

"You're in his bed every second night and you don't know how you are?"

Rose shrugged again, this time with less apathy and more anger. She was clearly refusing to speak on the subject. Zabini shook his head slowly.

"We may not be all soppy and in love, but at least I know where I stand with Abercrombie."

"Scorpius knows where we stand," Rose said, sounding annoyed.

As if summoned by the sound of the name, the dormitory door opened and Scorpius came through, his pale, pointed face set in an impassive mask. He glanced at Zabini, surveying his towel, then motioned towards the dresser.

"Is that the look you're sporting for the night?" he drawled.

"On my way to meet Imogen."

"So clothes would be superfluous," Scorpius guessed, a little sardonic.

Zabini scoffed, grabbing tracksuit pants and a shirt. He headed back into the bathroom. Scorpius sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand gentle down Rose's arm. His fingers were cool on her skin.

"You're tense. Is everything okay?"

Asking these questions was superfluous. The answer was always no. Rose couldn't untangle the rage and pain that was knotted up inside her, and no matter how much Scorpius plucked and pulled, she stayed stuck. She tried to soften a little, relaxing her eyebrows.

"Just exhausted," she said, the excuse weak.

Zabini walked back through the room, now dressed, tossing his towel onto his bed. He gave them a wave in passing. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving nothing but the lap of water against the windowpane.

Now alone, without fear of being observed or disturbed, Scorpius tucked himself in beside Rose, folding his knees between hers and wrapping his arm loosely around her. A sigh slowly escaped her, the knots in her shoulders lessening. She wanted to talk about Bellucci again—to convince Scorpius to pinch her little black notebook. But after broaching the topic after class and during dinner, she had received nothing but cold responses. And she couldn't pick a fight now, right before bed, when she would need his warm, soothing body beside her, when he would be the one to rouse her from nightmares. She couldn't afford to pick a fight, so she bit her tongue, the same way that he and Albus did during Potions class.

As she exhaled again, her skin goosepimpling from the feel of his fingertips, it occurred to her how selfish she had been while locked in her cage of grief. Scorpius had been patiently tending her wounds, trying to coax her out from behind the bars, all the while injured himself.

She rolled over so he was no longer spooning her and they were eye to eye, their noses only inches away. She could see his fair eyelashes flutter of his grey, marble eyes. It was odd to be so close, at thing angle, with nothing but breath between them. They weren't kissing, so their eyes were opened, and they simply studied each other. She could see the burst blood vessel striking across the white of his eye, like a lightening bolt. When she wasn't angry, she was defensive. Always on guard, always walled up. She had forgotten what his patience looked like, the cracks in his pink cherub lips, and the fair bristle of his pinched eyebrows.

"Are you okay?" Rose asked gently. She felt guilty for not having asked sooner.

"I'm…alright, I suppose, within the circumstances."

"What's bothering you right now?" Rose asked, drawing her fingers over his brow, curling her hand around his ear.

"My parents," he huffed, his shoulders bunching, "have been trying to get me to run with them once we set up a way out of the school."

She was too close to read his expression so she tried to lean back.

"Are you going to run?"

"No," Scorpius said, very carefully. "I'm staying put."

His hair was is soft, silver blonde waves. Longer now, falling over his forehead. She brushed it carefully with her fingers, over and over. He wiggled in closer.

"Why not run? If they can get out, it'll be your only chance."

"Prophecy or no prophecy, I'm not leaving, Rose. We have a task ahead of us," Scorpius said. "And I'm not going anywhere without you."

There were tears in her eyes, boiling hot and ready to fall, but she blinked them back and kissed him instead. Softly, he returned the kiss. Tentative. She couldn't remember when they last kissed. He kissed her again, this time without hesitation, with a relief that poured out of him. The pulse of her body made her feel lightheaded and restless, filled with an urgency that was unfamiliar. Even when they first really snogged by the marshes of the lake near her home, the energy then had been different. They had been inexperienced and excitable, with nervous lips and adrenalin in their guts. Now, the insistence was different. They were pressed together as tightly as possibly but she wanted to be closer, tighter.

She slid her hands under his shirt, feeling the downy hair on his stomach and chest. His heart pounded against her hands, steady and strong. It was a drum beating away the life left in him. He slid his arms more tightly around her waist, one hand in her thick curls and still, they weren't close enough, it wasn't tight enough.

This is how she would uncork, untangle, and pull things apart again, into pieces. She fumbled with the buttons of his shirt and he pulled her t-shirt up over her head. Zabini had been wrong—there was no confusion here, no hesitation, no indecision. They matched each other like a chess game.

Her skin was paler than it had been, it's golden brown sheen having dulled in the last few months. She was skinner; she could feel her hip bones jab into his side. She could feel Scorpius' thin fingers trace the range of her ribs as she began to unbuckle his belt.

"Rose," he said. Not the way she wanted him to. Not as a sigh or an encouragement. As a warning. But his hands were still gentle, trailing up her spine.

Fingers still through the belt loop, she kissed him again, but he leaned back to catch the look on her face. The determination in her blue eyes.

"Let's stop."

"What?"

Scorpius shook his head, sitting up so his back was braced against the bedhead. As if to preserve her modesty, he handed Rose her big, oversized Chudley Cannons t-shirt. She scrunched it into a ball.

She felt all the heat drain out of her. Nothing was left but a cold, numb anger. The way a corpse feels washed up against the shore, thick and heavy and waterlogged. She balled the shirt tighter into her hands, twisting the orange fabric into a knot.

"Don't look at me like that," Scorpius said, his voice low. "This isn't the right timing."

So they weren't on the same page after all.

"Since when do you believe in right timing? Last I remember you're not much of a fatalist."

"Rose," he said, firmly now, like a teacher berating a student, "you hardly say more than two words to me most days and now you want to jump my bones? This is just you acting out."

"Wow, I must seem so transparent to you," she bit back, thick with sarcasm. It felt good to argue. But he was being very patient, very hard, his temper cool.

"We're not ready," he said tersely. "This will make things worse."

"Glad that you know exactly how _I_ feel about my body."

"I said _we're_ not ready. This is about us, Rose, not you—" a dig, no doubt, about how one sided the relationship had been of late. She bit her lip to stop from retorting. "We haven't even talked about where we are, Rose. What this relationship is now. We haven't talked about how we feel. Everything's changed. So I think we should wait."

"Until when?"

Scorpius shook his head, clearly in despair.

"Until things change for the better."

* * *

Although the days were cold, and the sky was like an old greying bed-sheet hanging still on a clothesline, the Romanian air was cool and clean and the days outside were always welcome. It was on one such afternoon, as the Dragon Keepers finished up their daily chores, that Krishna caught sight of Selima slinking out of the laneway to Charlie's house. She flapped a dragon hide glove in her direction until she caught her attention.

"We're doing a bonfire tonight," Krishna said, smiling warmly. She didn't know anything more to Selima than that she was a guest of Charlie's and a refugee from the United Kingdom. "You should join us. We'll drink a little, dance a bit. It's a tradition here. We do it after dragon culls or open days."

"It's so cold, though," Selima said, crossing her skinny arms.

"Hence the bonfire and spirits and dancing," Krishna winked.

"I'll see if I'm up for it."

Usually, she would not be up for it, but it was a very special occasion; it was Teddy's first bonfire, too, and they would have a goblin present for the first time ever. Charlie was leading the 'grand ceremony' that involved collecting the flames from their resident Chinese Fireball, Firecracker, and with all of this convincing she agreed.

It was a clear night, hundreds of stars glistening in their collection of constellations. No light pollution to dilute their glow. The heavens were beautiful; if it weren't for that gibbous, speckled moon straddling the fullness of month, sickly in its pale glow.

Everyone cheered as Charlie jogged to the amphitheatre, his torch lit with dragon's breath. The bonfire was soon roaring. Teddy scooted over to sit beside Selima, his fingers trailing along her thin back.

"Pass the bottle," Sylvia said, extracting a clear spirit from her bag and handing it around. Charlie took a sip and sighed through his teeth, content. It did it's rounds, lips sucking at the neck without any fear of contamination. When it reached Selima, she winced at the smell. It was as strong as the antiseptic potion she used to clean her tattoo needles.

"We play a game every time we're at the bonfire," Adam said, slinging an arm around Krishna. "We count how many scars we've gotten from the dragons."

"We wear our scars with pride here," Charlie beamed.

"The person who has the least scars has to drink for the amount of seconds that the person with the most has."

Selima was incredibly conscious of the scars on her arms, on her neck, along her back. The scars hidden along her ribs and her thighs. The scars that came from her own nails, from her claws, whenever the myopic moon turned its eye on her.

They went around in their circle, showing off their scars, Teddy translating for Venn, who was too busy identifying the spirit as a type of fruit brandy to pay attention to the game. It amazed Selima that they were so willing to share their disfigurements. Adam and Krishna, tied with nine scars, burns and bites. Sylvia with her fourteen, Dragomir with nineteen, all of them quick to yank down their shirts and trousers to show where they started and ended. Victoire displayed her own puckered scars, grinning now, the others whooping in celebration.

And when it came to Selima, she wasn't sure what to say. She beat all of them. Underneath her jumper, she was a slab of onyx, ribbed and rippled. Teddy sensed her hesitation and covered neatly.

"Selima has you beat," he said. "More than all of you combined. She's tough."

"I don't believe it," Adam scoffed, crossing his arms.

"She does," Victoire said, cottoning on. "More than any of you. Even you, Dragomir."

The others heckled her, demanding a number, a count. But it would be impossible. Selima pulled her jump off over her head, arms and neck brazen in the bonfire. Everyone leaned back, stunned. A body carved up and then tattooed over. And while she didn't claim their origin or explain that she had been damaged by her own hands, by her own disease, not for bravery, not by dragons, the others broke out in applause. Dragomir tipped his cap. Sylvia whistled.

"I suppose then Teddy loses," Adam decided, passing over the bottle.

In mock protest, Teddy squizzed his fists and thick purple scars roped around his arms in glorious designs. Everyone cried out that he was cheating. Teddy gulped from the bottle for close to thirty seconds, which they decided was fair, since it was impossible to count how many scars Selima had.

With half the bottle finished, they returned to stoking the fire and telling stories of their culls. Venn watched with flattered confusion. Although she had been avoiding his dark glittering eyes all night, Selima noticed for the first time the tattoo on the back of his shaven skull. She started, surprised and leaned over Teddy to run her thumb over the blue ink.

Venn turned to stare at her in surprise. Everyone was equally as hushed.

"What does that mean?" Selima asked, staring at the tattoo.

"He's one of the King's inner men," Teddy replied.

"There's another tattoo—similar to that. But instead of a crown it has a goblin skull."

She withdrew her wand and drew a picture of the tattoo into the gritty dust on the ground, the pattern lit up by the embers of the fire. Venn leaned in to stare at it.

"Kobold Könige," Venn said, gesturing to the skull. Then, in English, "King killers."

"The Kobold Könige are anti-monarchist anarchists," Teddy explained.

"If they want regicide, what are they doing dismantling the British Ministry?" Victoire demanded.

Everyone leaned in, closer to the fire, their fierce concentration dancing in the light of the flame. Charlie nodded at Venn and Teddy, gesturing for a translation. He hesitated, turning to Venn and speaking in the harsh tongue. The goblin replied, brows furrowed, his sentences short and translated. Teddy's eyebrows hit his hairline.

"What?" Selima asked, her voice climbing. "What did he say?"

"He said," Teddy replied slowly, his eyes still on Venn's, "that the Kobold Könige gave up on the goblin kingdom. That the kingdom is too well protected. That they are going to take over Britain instead, and eventually, all of Europe."

* * *

"How have your first few weeks back in classes been, Rose? Do you feel like you're adjusting?"

"I don't see why you're pulling me _out_ of classes to have these meetings," she mumbled resentfully, picking at her fingernails.

"Well, you won't come to the sessions scheduled after class, so this is the other alternative," Hannah said, a little terse.

Rose just wanted to be back in the dormitories, where she could nestle in a nest of blankets. Preferably, she'd skip dinner too. They had had a particularly challenging Defence Against the Dark Arts class that morning—still practicing nonverbal spells, and her inability to get the knack of it was making her very frustrated. She wasn't in the mood to eat a meal while everyone was silently trying to turn the pumpkin juice to cider or wordlessly Summon people's cutlery from her hands.

She hated coming to see Hannah, who watched her with the observant eye of an owl, surveying Rose like a dismal before and after advertisement. It was exhausting to deal with adults who were treating her like a child.

"Other than classes, have you been getting out of the Slytherin dormitories much?" As if she were a mind reader. With nothing but a grumpy shrug to go off, Hannah pressed on. "The weather's been getting a bit nicer. Have you gone outside at all? For a walk around the grounds?"

"I thought you wanted us in the castle," Rose said, completely cold. "Isn't that safer?"

"All the grounds are safe, Rose. Hogwarts is very safe."

"Is it?" she said, feigning relief. She collapsed back into her chair, scratching her nose and turning her attention to the window. If they really valued their safety, they would have all of the students resettle in the Muggle world. Truth was, they needed them here. They needed everyone left with magical blood in one place, where it was easy to mobilise them. With an itch that tore at the corners of her mouth, Rose realised there would be no going home for the summer.

"End of year exams are coming up soon. Have you considered going to the library to study? It'll be very quiet and peaceful."

"I don't see much point studying, what with there being no Government and no jobs once school finishes," Rose said.

Based on the face Hannah pulled, it was taking everything she had to remain patient. "Scorpius mentioned to me that he held Quidditch trials. Did you maybe consider going for a bit of a joy ride?"

Something about Scorpius' willingness to share with Hannah bothered her.

"It'll be good for you to get outside," Hannah prodded.

In an attempt to humour her, Rose added some sting to her voice. "I'm just not _ready_ for that, you know?"

They were at another stalemate; Rose couldn't leave until she somehow proved to Hannah that she was making progress, and Hannah couldn't get through to Rose while she was being so wilfully uncooperative. She didn't have many more tactics to try. When she trained to be a school Healer, she was only given the basics in psychotherapy. She wasn't equipped to unpack with Rose's barbed insolence.

"It's important that you try to be active during this period, Rose," Hannah said, deciding to level with her like an adult. "You'll fall into a deeper depression if you don't break out of this isolation. You need to pursue something you feel passionate about."

"Pursue something I'm passionate about?" Rose repeated, her voice only a mumble.

"Yes. Whatever that is."

"Even if everyone thinks it's stupid, or that I should drop it?"

"Especially then," Hannah encouraged. "Pursue it because you feel strongly about it, because it feels productive to you. Because it gives you peace."

"Okay. I can do that."

* * *

Rose knew that this was not what Hannah had it mind. She meant for Rose to take up flying or martial arts or painting. She thought she would do something banal and mundane. She would not expect her advice to lead Rose to Bellucci's office, where she would unlock the door with her wand and sneak in during the night. But that's exactly what Rose did.

If she had learned anything over the last few years, it was that snooping never resolved anything. Instead, all it did was add pour gasoline on the fire. And while listening at keyholes and spying from around corners was once a harmless habit, she knew very well as she snuck down to Bellucci's office during the Friday night staff meeting that she was crossing through quicksand with no return.

Once again, the office was empty, but this time Rose could interfere at ease. The adults would be crowded around a table, oblivious to the stratagems of their most unhinged Slytherin student. Glittering jars of pickled animal parts sat like perfume displays on the shelves, distorting Rose's refection as she began peering through the desk drawers. The drawers were cluttered with small potions - face creams, voice sweeteners, strange and useless concoctions that spoke of Bellucci's vanity. It took her a moment to find the leather journal, and because she was in no rush, Rose took a seat at Bellucci's desk to read it. Again, she poured over the pages, scribbled in their hieroglyphic codes, so complex to Rose that they seemed like another language.

But even from what she could decipher, the Wolfsbane potion appeared again and again, modified each time with a list of new trials. And while Scorpius would insist that she was just keeping notes on his project, his name appeared nowhere. Bellucci was going to rip off his results.

Rose continued to turn through pages, aggrieved on his behalf since Scorpius was too dazed to work up any anger. The snap of the paper as she turned each page grew louder and louder, then slower, as more words jumped out that baffled her.

It was earlier in the journal, towards the beginning, before any mention of Scorpius' Alchemy. Ingredients that Rose _knew_ were for poisons ( _Mentha pulegium, moonseed_ and _silphium_ ) which were always tagged with the words 'Squib Brew' while another potion seemed like a twist on the Draught of Living Peace, called in later chapters ' _Somnum solution_.' These instructions had been heavily coded, whole pages torn out towards the front. If Scorpius or Albus were here, they would be able to immediately tell what it was these potions were supposed to do, but the ingredients were like a mathematical equation Rose had never learned to solve. While she recognised the numbers, she couldn't figure out the final sum. But the word 'Squib Brew' kept appearing over and over again, in margins of the page, as the header of a list directives, until Rose found a tucked in receipt reimbursing her for her ingredients and it was stamped with the Ministry of Magic's emblem.

Then, all the pieces clicked together to form a nightmarish image. Snooping never bought about resolutions, only terrible realisations.

The door clicked shut with a disapproving snap. Rose jumped at the sound.

"I can't believe you."

She blinked at Scorpius, the blood rushing to her cheeks, but any guilt was quickly displaced by indignation.

"It's worse than I thought."

"I can't _believe_ you broke into her office, again. Do you have any idea the trouble you would get into if you were caught?"

"Well, you caught me," she snapped, leaping out of the leather chair. "Why are you even snooping after me?"

"It's prefect patrol night," Scorpius said, advancing towards her. "Considering you're feeling well enough to break into teacher's offices, I don't see why you're not well enough to resume your post as a Slytherin prefect."

"Are you even going to _ask_ me what I found?"

"No," Scorpius said, his eyes like ice. "I am going to ask you to put that back and leave now and start behaving with a little bit more self-preservation."

"It's not just your assignment she's ripping off," Rose said, waving the journal about. "There's a potion in here called 'Squib Brew' and I think—I'm certain that it's the Ministry endorsed potion used to abort Squib babies."

He approached her, looking very tired. "Rose—"

"No!" she yelled, backing up so she was behind the chair, gripping the journal. " _No_. Scorpius, don't you see who she _is_? Who she was working for?"

"What does it matter now?" Scorpius said, his voice climbing. He raised both his hands, palms facing her, fingers splayed. An attempt to calm her down. "Listen—going after Bellucci won't fix anything."

"What does it _matter_ now?" Rose yelled, shaking the journal at him. "My cousin fled the country because we all think she's a Squib. They _killed off_ Squib children. They got rid of all the werewolves! And _she_ did that! We're supposed to just pretend she's one of the good guys?"

"I can't believe I'm the one to say this to you, but the world isn't black and white." Rose trembled with fury, her knuckles white. Scorpius began to approach her slowly, his hands still raised, his voice much softer. "Come on, darling. Let's go grab some food from the kitchen and have dinner in the common room and just chat. Come on, Rose. Give me the journal. Let's just—"

" _Stupefy_!"

Scorpius wasn't holding his wand—he wasn't expecting it. He crumpled to the stone floor. A line had been crossed, she knew. He would be so furious with her when he came to, but Rose pushed it from her mind. She sprinted from the classroom as she tucked her wand into her robes and didn't look back.

How could she sit in that classroom with that woman and say nothing? And do nothing? It wasn't up to Scorpius and everyone else to describe which people got to pay for their sins or didn't. There needed to be justice.

It wasn't a staff meeting, but Rose didn't realise that when she barged into the room. Her parents were there and her uncle and aunt, and half the Order of the Phoenix. She didn't event notice. As soon as her eyes found Bellucci, Rose fired her first hex.

"Hey!" Ron yelped, jumping away from the table.

Stella Bellucci screamed shrilly, but the Bat-Bogey Hex was deflected by a quick spell from Harry. How was it that his wand always seemed ready in his hand?

Rose didn't miss a beat though. She fired another, then another. Teachers yelled out in surprise. Professor Flitwick ducked beneath the table while Stella scrambled for her wand.

"Rose!" Hermione yelled, outraged.

Hex after hex, everything she had ever learnt from her peers and cousins, from teachers in classroom, from bullies' tripping hexes that left her with scraped knees and from the nasty jinxes she learned in order to retaliate. Horn-growing hexes, toenail-growing hexes, Stinging jinxes, Boil jinxes. Wardrobe doors banged open and chairs upturned. Parchments flew threw the air like startled birds.

Bellucci was hardly able to keep a Shield Charm up. Spell after spell, and no matter how Harry tried to intervene, he couldn't Disarm her. Like lightening, each spell flashed in the tiny classroom. Rose was too quick for them all, darting and weaving, but not quick enough to take several teachers all at once.

"That's enough!" Ron bellowed, and he threw up a Shield Charm that divided the room cleanly in two. Stella Bellucci panted on the other side, boils climbing over her fatigued face.

"Rose, what has gotten _into_ you?" Hermione said. She was on Bellucci's side of the Shield Charm, but she still got as close to her daughter as she could. "How could you attack a teacher?"

"How can you let her sit in this room? How can you let her _teach us?_ "

Neville came towards her with caution, a steady hand extended. "If this is about Meredith—"

"Not everything is about Meredith!" Rose screamed, her voice cracking in anger. She pointed a shaking hand at Bellucci's flushed face. " _She_ made the potions to get rid of all the Squibs! The Ministry paid her to make those potions! And—and she was making some other poison, too! A Werewolf Cure poison, it said!"

"A what?" Harry repeated, turning to stare at Stella Bellucci.

"It wasn't a poison," Stella said quickly, her voice like the squeak of a mouse.

"And—and she's trying to rip off Scorpius' alchemy project! She's been collecting notes on all the alchemy student's assessments and amending them in her journal!"

"You stole her journal?" Hermione clarified, still stunned by her daughter.

"What was the werewolf potion?" Harry repeated quietly, speaking directly to Bellucci.

Stella opened her mouth but nothing came out.

Rose was still panting hard. "She called it—she called it a Death Draught."

There was another flash of light, a spell that popped through the room. The Shield fell. Bellucci was bound, thick ropes that extended from the tip of Harry's wand.

"Harry," Ron said warningly.

"I want Professor Sharma to go and get the Veritaserum. If what she says is true—"

"I don't need the Serum," Stella said, her voice bubbling up in fear. It was no longer melodious and beautiful. It was filled with sharp notes, syncopated syllables. "I'll tell you the truth! The Ministry commissioned me two years ago, after Gladstone first got in. I was working for the Department of Mysteries. I just brewed the potions, I didn't know what they were being used for!"

"You didn't know," Harry repeated calmly, "what a Death Draught was being used for?"

"It was brewed to be painless," Bellucci pleaded, her eyes filled with tears. "I didn't know how they were going to use it. I didn't do anything _wrong_."

"And the Squib potion?"

"There's nothing wrong with that," she snapped, suddenly defensive. "It's not like I was murdering babies."

"You were commissioned to make these potions so Gladstone could have a perfect race of magical people."

"A society without inequality," Bellucci said, wilting again. "Look, I was just paid to make the potions. I didn't use them. If there's anyone you should be casting blame on, it's Gladstone."

"Well, Gladstone is dead," Harry said coldly.

"Because of you," Bellucci replied sharply.

They stood at a stalemate for a moment. "Neville," Harry said.

"Yes, there needs to be…" he was scrambling. "Disciplinary action. I'm sorry everyone, we have to deal with this. Let's postpone the rest of this meeting until tomorrow. Harry, take Stella to my office." Neville looked pointedly at Ron and Hermione before he opened the door with his wand, "Someone also needs to discipline Rose."

As soon as Harry and Neville had escorted the bound Bellucci from the staffroom, Ron rounded on his daughter. "Are you trying to get yourself expelled?"

"Oh, please!" Rose barked, thrusting her free arm in their direction. "Expel me? As if you could."

"Rose," Hermione said, voice very even under the eyes of the staff and Order members. "You can't just take things into your own hands. You should have reported this to Professor Longbottom or one of us. There's a chain of hierarchy at a school that needs to be followed—"

"We're in a siege," she spat storming, towards her father. "Do you think I'm stupid? You've been _training_ us."

"You are not a soldier, Rose."

"Are you _serious?"_ her wand, which had been clutched in her hand the entire time, was back in an offensive over-arm grip. Her eyes danced with blue fire. "Guess who has been teaching us to make poisons? Professor Bellucci. Who has been teaching us healing charms? Flitwick. This isn't on the _syllabus_. And I just duelled a room full of teachers, and not even the world's best Auror could Disarm me. Know where I learnt that? In _class_."

"Lower your wand."

"This isn't a school, it's a barracks, and you know it!"

Ron slowly moved his hands towards his pocket, where his wand was tucked away. Rose levelled her wand at him, hey eyes bright and fierce. She would really fight them. She didn't care.

"All of you, hold your peace for a second."

Draco, who was one of the only people remaining seated, rolled his parchment into a scroll, then gestured with it towards the door. His steel grey eyes sifted over the staff.

"Give us the room," he drawled. "I'll speak to her alone."

"Malfoy," Ron's hand still hovered over his wand as he turned to seethe at Draco. "You must be mental if you think you understand my daughter better than her own father does—"

"Well, frankly, I think I do, Weasley. You're not a Slytherin."

There was another beat of hesitation before Ginny crossed to her brother, squeezing his shoulder, and then led him from the room. The others followed, trailing out. But he was cool as ice, bringing his hands together and patiently waiting for the rest of the Order to vacate the room. Rose milled about uneasily, most of her anger now ebbing. This was the last person she thought she would be dealing with. Hermione frowned at Rose with probing eyes and Astoria glared at Draco with a warning look. Before they left, both women waved their wands, restoring the upturned chairs and bundled the parchment up in mid air so it sailed gracefully back into Hermione's arms. The door shut with a gentle click behind them.

Draco turned his grey eyes on Rose and it startled her how familiar that look was. Impassive and cool, difficult to read. Incredibly intimidating.

"I know how you feel, Rose," Draco said in his smooth drawl. "You have your honour to restore."

Rose shook her head bitterly.

"A Slytherin's sense of loyalty is different to a Gryffindor's. Your parents would be willing to die for the one's they love, whereas, we are willing to kill for the one's we love. And I see bloodlust in your eyes."

For the first time since entering the room, Rose lowered her wand. This was not the discussion she had expected. This was not the empathy she had been looking for. Although his voice lacked all paternal understanding, Draco understood Rose better than her own father did.

"You feel desperate to make things right," Draco said. He cleared his throat, placing his long fingers together in a pinnacle, the way Scorpius often did. "When I was in my sixth year, and my father was imprisoned, I swore I could restore his honour. I took on his shame. I was branded with the Dark Mark to prove it. And I would have truly killed Potter if I had the chance. As far as I could tell, Potter was the root of all our family's misery. But the mark had been set on Dumbledore's head, not Potter's, and killing Dumbledore was not so easy. He had never done anything to wrong me, personally. I didn't have the guts to do it, to look him in the eye and kill him. I had a plan, but I got panicky. Desperate. I made poor choices, sloppy decisions."

"You almost poisoned my dad," Rose said in a brutally hoarse voice, hastily rubbing a tear from the corner of her eyes.

"Don't be so sloppy, Rose. Kill the real enemy. Bellucci isn't who you want to waste your energy on."

"You—you aren't going to tell me not to do it?"

Draco sneered. "If you want to kill, you will. I was never able to do it. I am afraid Scorpius gets his lukewarm cowardice from me."

For some obscure reason, Rose found herself thinking of the silver stains on the Bloody Barron's shirtfront.

"There needs to be payback," she said, her voice grating.

"Yes," Draco nodded. "But get the right person. Kill with purpose. Bellucci is the middleman, a mercenary. She profits from war, but she did not start it. You must cut off the snake's head, not its tail."

So, it was Romnuk he meant. Rose needed to go after Romnuk. To cut off the snake's head. It was the only way to avenge Meredith, to restore balance. And she knew this too, deep down. She knew that it was Romnuk. No one else's blood would give her peace. But killing Romnuk would be far more difficult than killing Bellucci. Killing Romnuk would require a plan, an army.

She nodded slowly, unable to look away from his cool, grey eyes. Draco slowly nodded too.

"Understood?"

"Yes," Rose breathed.

"Now, put your wand away."

"I should tell you," she cleared her throat. "I Stunned Scorpius to get up here."

"Hopefully that will teach him a lesson," Draco replied. His callousness surprised her.

He stood, moving towards her so quickly and quietly that he was like a snake through water, his silver ponytail swinging behind him like liquid silver. Draco was suddenly very close, his eyes intense, his hand pressing into her shoulder. Rose felt her breath catch in her throat.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice very low. "You have an incredibly powerful position in your House. A unique place of influence."

"I—I don't—"

"They are grooming you and Scorpius," Draco said, dropping his voice even lower. He spoke in a low rush, a deluge of secrets. "They wanted me to take over at the end of sixth year. They wanted me to become a fagmaster, but I had other plans. I joined the Death Eaters. I didn't come back. It ended up going to Pansy and Blaise, and nothing came of it. When push came to shove, they chose to protect Slytherin house and leave the Battle of Hogwarts. Don't make such a foolish mistake. Self preservation does sometimes mean fighting back."

"I don't understand you—"

"You will have unique influence. The seventh years are like commanders. Soon, you will have an army at your disposal."

It was difficult to make sense of it, but Rose was sure that this was the first time a Slytherin alumnus had spoken about the hazing in their house. That an adult had made mention of it. That it was a real thing that happened, not just something in the night. She stared at him for a long moment.

Draco leaned back again, as impassive and stony faced as before. "Is that understood?"

"Er—yes."

"Good. Keep your head down. Don't make a fiasco like you did tonight. Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent underneath it."

* * *

 **A/N: Wow, Draco really featured in this one, didn't he? Dark horse of the chapter. This was a quick turn around from the last chapter so sorry in advance for typos that I missed.**

 **We are getting so close to the end of Volume II! Next month is my sister's wedding (an enormous and time consuming affair). Also, I'm concluding my Honours thesis soon. So the next update will depend on how ridiculously busy I am vs how badly I need some escapism and procrastination.**

 **Thank you all for your reviews! If I didn't get a chance to reply personally, I really appreciate the feedback. Also, if you are desperate to see a particular character/pairing be featured who I have neglected, let me know and I'll see what I can do.**

 **In the meantime, have a happy end to August! Van x**


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

—CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE—

"I am so angry at you," Scorpius seethed, the moment he was face to face with Rose.

Merlin, she knew it, too. She knew that she would not be getting away with that Stunning Spell scot-free. She knew that she was about to meet a fury that he had not directed at her in years.

Scorpius was struggling to get beyond this sentence. He paced back and forth, shaking his head, his mouth churning. "I am _so_ angry at you."

"I know."

"You don't know," Scorpius hissed, coming to a halt. "You _don't_.

It was her first instinct to justify her actions, to point out that _she was right_ and that he had taken the wrong side; that she did what needed to be done. But more than anything, more than _anything,_ she desperately needed to speak to Scorpius about everything that had transpired in the staffroom. To do that would mean to apologise without excuse, to accept whatever wrath Scorpius was bottling up inside of him.

Since duelling the staff and exposing Bellucci, Rose's head was incredibly clear. Like when a storm sweeps through in a rage, taking with it the fog, leaving everything still and wet in its wake. It was a clarity she had not felt in a while, a sharp and calm clearheaded state that not even potions could procure. She was very aware that Scorpius had been too good to her since Meredith's death, too patient with her selfish mourning; that like a sponge, he had drunk up her grief, while she continued to overflow. And before, she had felt the burden she had been, but could not stop it. She could not stop the flood of grief that drowned them both, Scorpius painfully trying to buoy her up.

"I can't believe you Stunned me," he said, his face cold. It was a look that could shatter her heart. For every bucket load of patient there was a teaspoon of resentment mixed in, and she was tasting it now. "I can't believe you went behind my back. You acted like a child."

"I know," Rose repeated, taking full blame. "I let my emotions run wild."

Scorpius crossed his arms, turning away from her and striding towards the Slytherin fireplace. At least it was late enough that no one was witnessing this reprimand.

"I'm really sorry."

"No you're not," Scorpius snapped. "You're pleased you did it. I know you."

"I am glad I found out what I did," Rose said, trying to mute some of her pride. "But I am really sorry about the way I did it. I didn't want to cross you."

At this, he became very still, his eyes fixed on the carpet so that his blonde lashes obscured his gaze. It was hard to read him, but not because he was concealing his emotions. He wouldn't meet her eye. Rose moved towards him tentatively then, one hand outstretched, but Scorpius flinched away.

"No. I am still angry at you," he said, recoiling one hand. "I can't talk to you right now."

He turned sharply and headed towards the boy's dormitories. For the first time in many weeks, Rose did not follow.

* * *

It did not take long for the news—or some variation of the news—to spread. Bellucci was suddenly no longer at her post; Potions classes were on hold. There was no official explanation, leaving room for rumours. That Bellucci was a spy for the goblins; that she had tried to poison the Minister all those months ago; that she had helped stage the Three Broomstick's Siege. There was only one correct piece of information that aligned with every story—Rose Weasley was the one who hexed her half way to Tuesday and she had Stupefied Malfoy in the process.

The reproachful awe that had followed Rose around whenever she surfaced from the dungeons had suddenly amplified. People didn't even whisper in her presence anymore; they just stopped and stared in stern silence. It had been surprisingly easy to ignore when she had first started to attend classes, for Rose's depression acted like a Bubble-Head Charm, making the rest of the world feel out unreal and of reach. Now, with such a clear head, all she could feel was everyone's stares burning into her back.

Scorpius' anger had not cooled off by the following morning. Politely, respectfully, docilely, she ignored him, as he ignored her. She stepped out of his way as they entered the Charms classroom. She paused to let him pass when he left. When they paired up during Herbology, she sat beside Zabini instead.

"You Stunned him?"

"Drastic times, drastic measures," Rose muttered, turning over a leave in her hand. She took the quiz out of Zabini's hand and ticked the first box: poison.

"He's been awfully good to you and you repaid him by knocking him unconscious him."

"Scorpius fell in love with me because I punched him in the face," Rose replied.

"Is that really why he fell in love with you?" Zabini mused. Then, he added, "has he even told you that he loves you?"

Rose hesitated, feeling a little less certain than she had been a few months ago. "It was heavily implied," she said.

They both lowered their clipboard, peeking over it so they could study Scorpius and Isabella. The word love felt too full of life, too full of goodness. She wasn't sure whether it was still in their vocabularies. Rose bit her lip.

"I need to make it up to him. Not just the Stunning Spell. All of it."

"All of it?"

"I have been particularly heavy lately," Rose said, her voice very low. "And he has carried that weight."

"If you want to make it up to him, join the Quidditch team. They are desperate to get you back."

"Not going to happen," Rose muttered, crunching another herb in her gloved hand and sniffing it. She had to guess this one: edible, medicinal. She ticked both options.

"Well, you better make some grand gesture. I don't think he'll ever forgive you otherwise."

Rose stared at Isabella, then turned her sharp, blue eyes onto Professor Sharma. Merlin, she missed Professor Longbottom, but at least Sharma had her in her good books…Although that may have changed ever since she attacked all the staff during a confidential meeting.

"I have a plan," Rose said, crushing the next herb in her hands: poison.

* * *

No one could replace Meredith or Rose, and yet, the team still meet dutifully for practice. Running drills without them had felt like a key ingredient of the potion was missing. People turned up out of a loyalty for their Captain, who approached Quidditch with a business as usual attitude, neglecting to notice the deflated defiance of his compatriots. Still, the mood was grittier with Scorpius' promise that he had found their replacement Beater and Chaser tautening in the grip of their broomsticks.

"We'll be running drills more frequently once they join us," Scorpius said, strapping on his gloves and facing his teammates. "It'll take a while for the new players to gel."

"Malfoy," Tim Buckingham groaned, "can you drop the suspense and just tell us who it is?"

"You'll see soon enough," Scorpius replied, turning towards the castle. Dusk was veiling the horizon in a mauve taffeta, silhouetting the two figures that were making their way down the sloping hills. "Don't expect them to be at Slytherin's current standard yet. It'll take time for us to whip them into shape."

Sterling raised a hand to his eyes, squinting out across the grass. "Malfoy, are you _sure_ about this?"

While the build up of suspense would have served an extra dose of drama, even Scorpius seemed surprised. He raised both his hands in confusion.

Savvas Demitriou, was sauntering towards them, broomstick over his shoulder.

"Please tell me Demitriou isn't the person you chose," Alice breathed under her breath.

"Of course not," Scorpius muttered back, then a little louder, "Savvas, I'm surprised to see you here."

"Well, I am full of surprises," the seventh year acknowledged, grinning his Cheshire cat grin. "I hear you need a Beater."

Scorpius had to adamantly ignore Toby Fleischer throw his Beater's bat to the ground and begin walking towards the goalposts. Savvas, always brimming with confidence, ignored him too.

"I thought Gallo agreed to come down?"

"Oh, you really thought Tiberius would _agree_ to play on the Quidditch team? He may be the size of a troll but the only game he's played competitively is chess. He said yes to be polite."

"And he sent you as a replacement?" Tim Buckingham snorted.

"Play nice," Sterling snapped. "Welcome on board, Savvas."

But everyone had turned their attention to the slopes again, where none other than Isabella Nott was coming down the slopes, her very ornate broomstick tucked beneath her arm.

"Oh come on, we can't play with these two," Tim Buckingham huffed. "They're both girls."

Before Sterling could correct him again, Alice had already sent a Hurling Hex at Buckingham's heels, sending him arse over face into the gravel. She tucked her wand back into her robes, dark eyes flashing with anger.

"We've had a change of plans, Belle," Scorpius said, nodding towards Savvas, who only seemed chuffed that he was the other teammate.

"He's got the biceps for a Beater," Isabella acknowledged.

"Thank you, love," Savvas replied, flexing to illustrate her point.

"Is this a _joke_? Merlin, Malfoy, I'd rather we didn't play!"

"Oi shut up Buckey! No one wants to hear your opinion," Alice snapped, rounding on him again. This time, he hastily pulled his wand out of his robes, reading to protect himself, but Alice was already turning away, throwing a leg over her broom.

"If they can fly then lets start flying. We need practice."

And while there may have been tension between the three seventh year boys on the team, everyone else was entirely civil. They were up in the air, brooms steady, bats at the ready, Toby Fleischer begrudgingly taking Savvas aside to each him his personal tricks.

While hovering mid-air, Isabella took an elastic off her wrist and tied her hair up into a high ponytail. Scorpius narrowed in on his three Chasers.

"I want Sterling on point for today's practice. Ladies, you need to flank him whenever he has the Quaffle. Learn to weave around each other so whoever gets the Quaffle is always ready to pass."

Isabella gripped her broom again, manicured fingers curling around its handle. Alice's mouth twisted to the side, unconvinced.

"Shouldn't we just be starting with drills?"

"I know how to fly," Isabella snapped.

"It'll take time for us to get used to each other."

"I'm plenty used to you."

'Please, _please_ , don't bicker like this," Sterling pleaded, his voice turning to a whine. "I hear enough of it from the twits in my dormitory."

The hand gestures between Buckingham and Savvas illustrated his point. With a deeply pained exhalation, Scorpius waved them off. They began their practice, the Seeker and Beaters playing as Chasers so that Sterling, Nott and Lim had a chance to fly competitively together. The girls naturally fell into his sides, arms tight, legs taut, their passing consistent, always getting the Quaffle back to Sterling whenever they were side-tracked.

"Good! Let's get the Beaters back into their position now! Try scoring past Buckey while the Bludgers coming after you."

Although Sterling was still on point, he was avoiding two sets of Bludgers without the help of a Beater. He dropped the ball and Isabella caught it, weaving magnificently into a loop, her broom forming a circular flourish before she was right-side-up again. All her teammates came to a halt in the air, hovering in surprise.

"Holy Helga, where did you learn that?" Savvas cried.

Isabella whipped her ponytail out from her eyes. "I used to do Aerobatic flying competitions when I was younger," she said.

'Merlin, you purebloods," Alice snorted, shaking her hair. "Let me guess, you were also tutored in Latin."

"French," Isabella corrected.

"A fine breed," Buckingham whistled.

"Oh, _please_ ," Alice spat, whizzing past Isabella with a rush of wind. The Quaffle had vanished from her dainty hands and found itself now under Alice's arm, only moments before it hurled through once of Buckingham's hoops. Alice had already dived down to collect it again before shouting her next quip, "she can do fancy manoeuvres but can she _score_?"

"I'm bloody glad you let girls on the team," Toby Fleischer, the usually quiet one, muttered to Scorpius as he flew past, a very sly smile spreading across his face.

"Alright, no more showing off!" Scorpius called. "Back to the practice!"

Regardless of whether they got along or not, Alice and Isabella complimented each other well in the air. Isabella dived, swooped and evaded capture, passing to Alice, who then scored without fail. The more barbed comments flew between them like arrows, the better they flew together. Sterling grinned at Scorpius, drawing near to him at the end of practice.

"Don't say anything," he warned Scorpius. "If you compliment how well they fly you might make them too self-aware."

"It's not in my nature to praise people," Scorpius replied tersely. Then, loud enough for everyone to hear, "Pack the equipment up. Solid effort today. We'll start practice again tomorrow afternoon."

Isabella groaned, examining her hands, complaining of her broken nails. Savvas approached, handing his bat off to Toby, and promising Belle he had a spell to fix that, and maybe a pair of dragon hide flying gloves she could borrow. As they set up towards the school, Alice weaved her way to Scorpius, her brow furrowed. He was expecting another narky comment, but she was only pensive.

"It's not the same team without them."

No matter how mad he was at Rose, Scorpius had to agree. It just wasn't.

* * *

 _Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy,_

 _You are cordially invited to Greenhouse B_

 _This evening at 10 PM sharp_

 _For a highly warranted apology banquet_

 _Sincerely,_

 _Rose Weasley_

Scorpius turned the invitation over in his hands, the shimmery green parchment gently embossed with her writing. It was specially done—one of those fancy stationary quills that actually indented the page. It was unlike Rose to go to such effort. And while he did not see her at dinner, he made an effort to sneak out of the grounds at a quarter to ten, wand gently gripped in his hand as he wove the familiar route to the greenhouses.

He could tell, even before he entered, that the room was full of light. It danced and reflected off the grubby glass windows. Dozens of glowing, blue fires bobbed inside glass jars, suspended from the ceiling by magic. The flickering, bluish light mixed with the moonlight to turn the large swaying fronds a pleasant shade of silver.

"I thought you were going to stand me up."

Rose was standing by one of the long, wooden workbenches. She had arranged the table with a hoarded supply of Honeydukes sweets, strawberries and marshmallows.

"I'm right on time, thank you very much," he said, a little curter than he meant to sound.

Her arms were hidden behind her back in a nervous grip. It would be impossible to admit how much he missed her on the Quidditch pitch earlier that day. Carefully, she extracted her wand and gave a gentle swish, murmuring the incantation that set a ball of blue light aflame in a porcelain flower pot. Scorpius drew nearer to it.

He had spent so much time down in the dungeons, brewing up potions, that he had forgotten how good it felt to be in the greenhouses, surrounded by the fresh moisture of the plants. It was quiet and still, Rose stepping into the bench chair to avoid scraping it across the ground. It was like she was treading on dragon eggshells.

Scorpius also took a deep breath and sat opposite her.

"So, you were right about Bellucci?"

She shrugged, squinting at him. It was strange how much clearer her eyes were now—sharp and focused, like an eagle.

"I suppose."

"I heard that Neville's put her under house arrest."

"Is that all?" she bit back sharply.

Scorpius shrugged back this time. "They can't get rid of her, we don't exactly have access to a prison or even the outside world. We don't even have a judicial system anymore."

"Let's just make her drink all the poisons she ever brewed," Rose replied hotly. "That seems fair."

After a lull in the tempo of their conversation, Rose deflated a little, pursing her lips remorsefully. It was clear that she was being very careful with her words. Scorpius huffed in frustration.

"I knew, alright?" Scorpius said, his voice catching. "I'm not stupid, Rose. I knew that she wasn't a good person. But she was a _really_ good potions teacher. The best potions teacher I've ever had and—"

"You wanted to be taught."

"I'm sorry, but I let my ambitions get ahead of me. Surely, you know what that feels like? She really saw the potential in me and I thought—with her help, I thought I would be winning prizes at the International Alchemical Conference," he drew a very deep breath, some of the gusto ebbing out of his voice. "I chose to be ignorant to all the red flags you saw because I wanted to be taught. Do you know how rare it is that I actually feel like I'm learning something at this place?"

"You don't need her," Rose said, her voice brimming with urgency. "Scorpius, _you're_ brilliant. She was copying _your_ experiments."

"I'm sorry I made it seem like you were being paranoid," he said.

Rose recoiled, visibly annoyed, her brows scrunched together. "Don't do that. This is supposed to be my apology gesture. You're ruining it by being all gallant."

"This is an apology gesture?"

"For hexing you," Rose said, chewing her lip. "And for being a terrible person these last few weeks."

"You've been grieving."

"So have you," Rose replied.

He just wanted a moment where the thought of the siege wasn't hanging over his head. Even during Quidditch practice, after the rush of the wind had wiped his mind clean, he still had the reminder that they were permanently replacing one of their members, the youngest teammate who had earned Slytherin their lead in he Quidditch Cup. The thought made him feel sick.

Rose's brow crumpled as she read his expression. "I feel like we're trapped here, in this school, and we're constantly being reminded of how _horrible_ it all is. There's never a break."

"I know," Scorpius sighed.

"You're dealing with it far better than I am."

"Hardly."

"Sometimes in the middle of the night I feel like scaling the walls and just running into the streets and letting myself be exploded into a thousand pieces—"

Rose dragged her hands over her face, stifling the end of the thought, as if she could suffocate it if she just kept it in and didn't give it oxygen. After a few seconds, she dropped her hands, revealing her pinched but hopeful expression. Her eyes glittered like diamonds in all the blue firelight.

"Here, have a sorry strawberry," she said, pushing the plate towards him. "Or a remorseful marshmallow. Or a contrite tart."

"Did you think of apology wordplay for all the sweets?"

"I had to be as highkey as you are," Rose levelled back at him, nudging the plate closer to him still. "I really am sorry."

Scorpius grinned, skewering one of the marshmallows and roasting it over the little blue fire.

"I can't believe Professor Longbottom didn't give you detention for trying to hex Bellucci. Or hexing me."

"To be honest, I thought I was going to be in deep shit until your dad intervened."

" _My_ dad?"

Rose tried to keep her tone light, as if it were conversational.

"Your dad also said something strange to me."

Scorpius immediately became tense, his eyes suddenly cold and stony, the firelight making them look like ice. He spoke from behind a tightly clenched jaw.

"And what was that?"

Bringing up Rose's strange talk about Slytherin's hazing rituals would spoil all her attempts to achieve some normality with him. They were finally talking the way they had used to, before.

She veered onto a different course. "He quoted Shakespeare, which was bizarre."

"Why is that bizarre?"

"He's a Muggle playwright."

"Er, no," Scorpius said, folding his napkin, his skewer neatly wrapped in it. "Shakespeare was a wizard."

" _No_."

"Yes? This is common knowledge."

Rose was shaking her head now, trying to hold back laughter. "I have never once seen or heard anything about Shakespeare being educated at Hogwarts."

"He wasn't," Scorpius said. "He was educated privately at home with tutors. Why do you think Muggles know so little about his life?"

"I thought they just kept poor records back then."

"It's because he was a _wizard._ Living during a period of witch hunts with paranoid pureblood parents. The Shakespeares were a very well off family. His father was an alderman on the council so he sent William to a Muggle grammar school to keep up pretences. But he rebelled, got married to a half-blood witch at the age of eighteen and started a career as a playwright. His family, old Slytherin pureblood family, you know? They basically disowned him."

"You're joking, aren't you," Rose said slowly, looking him in the eye. "This is an elaborate prank."

"Macbeth is _filled_ with magical references," Scorpius cried, his laughter punctuating his indignation. "He literally speaks of the shrieks of Mandrakes torn out of the earth in Romeo and Juliet.

"Wait, you've read all his plays?"

"Of course," Scorpius said, sipping from his goblet. "I'm not some pleb who's never read the greatest wizarding poet of all time."

Rose stretched across the table, her hands planted flat, getting close to Scorpius' face so she could look straight into his yes. He gave nothing but his amusement away. She would _know_ if Shakespeare were a wizard—her mother would never stop talking of it if that were the case.

"Are you really telling the truth?"

"Even if I were lying, I'm a top notch Occlumens. You'd never be able to tell."

Rose slumped back into her seat, unable to keep the laughter from coming. Scorpius' smile slowly stretched across his face until he distracted himself with a strawberry, waiting for her giggled to subside.

"That's not what he said to you that's bothering you though, is it?"

The mention of his father always made him a little bitter, nettled as he was by the complexity of their relationship. For Draco to have said something to Rose, to privilege her ear over his own son's, was enough to bother him. Even still, the idea of his father speaking to Rose at all set his teeth on edge.

Based on how uncharacteristically coy Rose was being, their conversation must have been unsettling.

"Your dad talked about the Slytherin hazing," Rose said, levelling her eyes with Scorpius.

"He—he did?"

"Yes," she took a deep breath. "He said that the seventh years are grooming us to be leaders. And he said that self preservation does sometimes mean fighting back."

A few beats of silence passed between them as these words sunk in, absorbed by the greenery and leafy shrubberies.

"That seems…unlike him," Scorpius said, his voice very quiet. "Is that all he said?"

Rose hesitated, and then nodded. He could tell immediately that she was lying, but he didn't push it.

"Has he ever talked about Slytherin's rituals with you before?"

"Never," Scorpius conceded. In fact, whenever his father spoke of Slytherin, he spoke of the pride he had coming from such a house. He spoke of the elaborate history of distinguished wizards who had once born the symbol of the serpent on the school robes. He had given his son a completely unrealistic view of what Slytherin life would be like—one of torment and tough love; of constantly needing to prove oneself; a life lived in the damp darkness that promised safety but only brought the indecision to act. How easy life must be for a Gryffindor, Scorpius thought, who just had to leap out and act on their simple black and white moral conscience. How easy things would have been if he were sorted a Hufflepuff, instantly valued for his hard toil and his reservation.

"If we become the seventh year seniors in charge, we will be different, won't we?" Rose asked, her voice hinting at her own desperation.

Scorpius picked the leaves off his strawberry, noticing how bruised it was. When he thought of his father, it was with distaste.

"We'll be different," he said. "I swear we will."

* * *

While the Slytherin girl's dormitory had always been fraught with tension over one thing or the other, Isabella seemed determine to revitalise her old peacekeeper role and ask Alice whether she would like to go down to the pitch and help her practice for the upcoming match, one on one.

"You don't have a problem with flying," Alice said, turning a page in her Transfiguration textbook.

"I need help with passing," Isabella said, swallowing any pride, "and I would much rather practice with you then Sterling."

Sterling was nice enough—in fact, of the seventh year boys, he was one of the few who was quite decent—but Alice knew as well as Isabella that practicing with Sterling would be awkward, heavy with implicit yet misread tensions. It was the same between Alice and Buckingham. With a sigh, she rolled off her bed and pulled her shoes towards her.

It was late afternoon, the pitch was clear, although Hufflepuff was practicing later that night, so they had limited time before they had to return to the common room or find somewhere else to practice. Isabella dutifully listened to Alice's instructions as the other, more experienced girl walked her through each type of pass.

"This is the Porskoff Ploy, which if you could actually aim properly, would be a really good move for you."

"Why's that?" Isabella asked.

"Because you're such a wild flyer. Sterling has never been able to pull it off."

Alice tossed her the Quaffle again, Isabella's fingers gripping it the way Malfoy had shown her in their first practice (' _You've been holding it like that all this time? Do you want a wrist injury, Nott?_ ') and then watched Alice closely.

"You take the Quaffle, get up as high as you can to get the other Chasers to pursue you, then drop the Quaffle to one of your Chaser's beneath. Leaves us a clear run to the hoops."

"I'll try it," Isabella said.

Alice was right in one respect; it was easy for Isabella to almost loop-de-loop up, high above the stands, so far that Alice was a little anxious following. The problem was passing from such a height. It was hard to aim to Alice, to drop the ball straight down like a bomb. She kept pausing to properly throw, and Alice would force her to do it all again.

"If you pause to aim then it defeats the whole purpose," Alice cried, as once again she caught the Quaffle. "This is a _diversion_ tactic, they shouldn't see it coming!"

Isabella couldn't get it, despite how hard she tried. To her great remorse, she broke another nail in the process. The girls ended up calling it quits when they saw the Hufflepuff team walking down the field. It was time to go, before they gave away any tactics—or worse—had to engage in small talk with Caleb Macmillan.

They walked back up to the grounds, their brooms on their shoulders.

"Thank you," Isabella said, brushing her long fringe behind her ears. Her face was very pink. "To be honest, I'm a little anxious."

"That's normal," Alice replied. "It's your first ever match and you are a reserve member of the team."

"It's not even that," Isabella said, shaking her head. "Just worried I'll make a fool of myself."

Alice raised her eyebrows and smirked. "No one's playing competitively anymore anyway," she said. "I don't think Malfoy even cares if we win. He just wants us flying."

Isabella didn't respond. The grounds were growing dusky in the early evening light, the Whomping Willow shivering in the breeze. They were quiet a little longer until they reached the Castle's doors.

"I'm worried that James will commentate again."

"What's it to you?"

"I just can't bear it," Isabella said, grimacing. She frowned for a moment and glanced at Alice. "I feel like every boy I've ever fancied has fucked me over somehow, you know? But it's not really anything they've done. I feel like it's me."

"It's probably something they've done," Alice said curtly. "You're just internalising it and trying to excuse their behaviour."

"I really don't know," Isabella said, chewing her lip. They were almost at the dungeons.

Alice stopped before the door, and Isabella expected her to give the password (it was _pickled toads_ ), but instead she turned to Isabella and crossed her thin, sinewy arms across her chest.

"But it's not really anything they've done then," Alice said. "Maybe it's just them."

"Them?" Isabella repeated, confused.

"Boys. Maybe its just boys. Maybe they don't even do anything on purpose. They just fuck you over anyway. Maybe you make it too easy to get fucked over. I don't know. I don't think about these things as much as you do."

"Erm…are you two going inside or…?" A third year hovered behind them, glancing between the sixth year girls with embarrassed trepidation.

"Yeah," Alice said, uncrossing her arms. She turned back to the stone wall and said, " _Pickled Toads_."

* * *

Rose has skipped breakfast, as was her custom, so Albus and Scorpius wound their way to the Potions dungeons on their own, speculating who their new teacher would be. This speculation brought them back to the reason why they no longer had a potion's professor—of course, they were not really done talking about Rose.

"Has going to the meetings with Hannah helped?" Albus asked.

"Hardly," Scorpius sighed. "She seems a bit less foggy since she attacked Bellucci, which is something I suppose."

"We ought to get her out of the Castle if we can," Albus replied. "Especially since her seventeenth birthday is coming up."

Scorpius immediately lowered his voice. "I've been thinking the same thing. It's not good for her to be couped up here."

"But how do we get past all the enchantments," Albus frowned.

"Or your parents," Scorpius added.

They both hummed with contemplative silence, shuffling behind Mary Boot and Imogen Abercrombie as they made their way into the potions classroom. As they crossed the threshold, both of their gazes found Rose (checking that she had, in fact, gotten out of bed) who was sitting at the back table, eyes very wide and vigilant, as if trying to communicate a dire message with the boys before they entered the room. They both came to a halt, anxious. She shook her head imperceptibly.

"Please," a familiar voice drawled, "could everyone take their seats?"

Scorpius slowly turned around to face the blackboard, where he was stunned to find his own father (expression very sour) standing behind a cauldron. The blood boiled into his face. He didn't move.

"Oh, blimey," Albus muttered.

Scorpius stood stock still, trembling with anger. His face had drained of all colour, as still and hard as marble. His father's eyes finally fell on him, reproachful and grey, the same look mirrored back. Everyone had now taken their seats; Albus hovered near a chair, eyes darting nervously from the father to son. Still, Scorpius did not move an inch. Perhaps if he glared at his father long enough, he would turn and leave.

"Scorpius," Draco said testily. "Have a seat."

So this was the replacement. He had gone from Professor Bellucci to him.

Without turning to look at the others, Scorpius hiked his bag up higher on his shoulder and strode out of the classroom. His father was out in the corridor a moment later.

"Scorpius, please be reasonable."

"You shouldn't be teaching me."

"Potter's father is teaching defence," Draco said, with the hint of a whine in his voice. "I don't see how that's any diff—"

"The difference," Scorpius snapped, spinning around to look his father in the face, "is that Harry Potter doesn't try to interfere in the lives of his children."

Draco seemed slightly affronted. "I'm not interfering."

"I'm not running away with you and mum." Scorpius' voice was becoming uncharacteristically hoarse. "I am not breaking up with Rose. And you _will not_ speak to her; you will not go near her. Do you understand me?"

Whatever Draco's response was, Scorpius didn't pause to listen. He continued up the corridor, then up the staircases, taking several flights and several shortcuts until he was at the Headmaster's office. He stared at the Gargoyle statue, his heart and mind racing for a moment, before he tried " _Mimbulus mimbletonia_."

The gargoyle graciously sprung aside, revealing the staircase.

When Scorpius barged into the Headmaster's office with not so much as a knock, he was met with a completely bewildered Neville, who had decorated the space with so many obscure plants that they were infringing on the view of the Headmaster portraits. He blinked at Scorpius with a bit of surprise.

"Merlin, I should think of a better password," he frowned, clearly put out.

"Sir, in all due respect," Scorpius said, his voice shaking a little, "you put my _father_ in charge of Potions?"

"Oh, your mum told me you would feel this way," Neville said, biting his lip. "Have a seat, Scorpius."

" _No_ ," he snapped, dumping his book bag on the floor. "Why is everyone telling me to have a seat? I'll stand, thank you very much."

This show of resolve, and perhaps also the volume of his voice, seemed to astonish his favourite professor. He nodded, allowing Scorpius to remain standing.

"My dad is hardly even qualified to be a Potion's Master—"

"From my memory, your dad is exceptionally skilled at Potions," Neville said, "and in any case, we don't have much choice on this. It's not as if we can advertise the position in the _Daily Prophet_."

Which, under other more rational circumstances, would seem fair. But frankly, it did not seem rational or fair to Scorpius. Having the teacher who viewed Scorpius as a protégée, however morally corrupt she was, swapped out with his father was an unthinkable equation. He had lost Professor Longbottom in Herbology, and now he had lost Bellucci in Potions. And while it shouldn't have mattered, what with a war going on, it felt as if the very few things that Scorpius still enjoyed were now looking incredibly bleak.

"I don't want him to be this involved in my life," Scorpius snapped, crossing his arms. "It was bad enough that he in on the grounds and on the Order. I don't want him in Hogwarts, in my classroom."

Neville placed both his hands on the table, his expression very tired.

"Honestly, Scorpius, the staff talked about having _you_ teach the class. But what with the Siege still only a month ago and all the pressure which is on you, Rose and Albus we thought it were better to give you a break."

Scorpius' argument faltered. He blinked at his Professor in confusion. "M-me?"

"Yes. Frankly, your skill outstripped Bellucci's. We knew you would be capable of it, but really…I wasn't sure whether you would cope with the added expectation."

Scorpius didn't have anything to say, so surprised by this admission that he could do nothing but blink in surprise. Professor Longbottom shrugged.

"If you're that anxious about having to be taught by your father, then honestly, you don't have to go to class. None of us are going to force you."

It was clear then that whatever Professor Longbottom had been to Scorpius throughout his entire career at Hogwarts, it had meant far more to him than his own father's efforts to love him. It was difficult now, to stand opposite him, and no longer be spoken to like a child, but like a colleague. It was difficult to be treated like an adult when what he wanted more than anything was to throw a tantrum, to sulk and stay surly.

As Scorpius left the Headmaster's office, still awash with bewilderment, he realised how fallacious the school had become. It was holding classes for the sake of occupying the students. He was keenly aware of his own anxiety, of the meaninglessness of it all. He understood for the first time why Rose was so desperate to escape, so dispassionate with class attendance, so depleted when even leaving her bedroom because she was being forced to confront the delusion of verisimilitude that misted the entire school.

He took Professor Longbottom's advice and didn't return to class.

* * *

Sometimes for Rose, it was hard to remember she had a family. She felt so incredibly disconnected, so wrapped up in the dark green dungeons under the school, that it no longer felt like the rest of her brood was on the grounds with her. In fact, her immediate family was closer than ever, but it was something she consistently forgot.

It wasn't until, after an Ancient Runes lesson one afternoon, that Hugo appeared outside of her class, resting against the wall with his arms folded. When he saw Rose, he stood straight and fell into step beside her. It was like meeting an estranged relative after many decades. She kept having absurd thoughts, things her maternal grandmother would tell them, like 'you've grown taller since I last saw you,' and 'you've grown out of all the puppy fat,' but of course, she didn't voice this out loud to her brother.

"Mum wanted to see you," he said, as they headed to the Great Hall, "she asked for you to go visit her tent."

"Her tent?" Rose repeated.

Hugo raised his eyebrows. "Come on, Rose, you've been to their tent, haven't you?"

Had she? It was hard to remember what she had and hadn't done in the last few weeks, although she did feel certain that she had not been down into the tents on the grounds.

"Oh, I have," she said, just to staunch Hugo's incredulous look. "Did she say why?"

"Just wanted to chat to you," Hugo shrugged. "I'll see you later?"

"Yeah, okay," Rose said, watching him enter the Hall. She turned, pushing by the others who were going to lunch, and headed for the Hogsmeade tents pitched near the border of the forest.

She wandered through all the makeshift houses, searching for something familiar. It wasn't long until she spotted the one they had used for camping since she was a child. Both the tent flaps were open so she headed inside, a little bell charm signalling her arrival.

Her mother was seated on a sofa, in front of a coffee table scattered with graphs and ancient glyphs, two small shoeboxes on the table, one that held an apple core and the other that was empty. Rose's eyes scoured the notes. Her mother was trying to construct a Vanishing Cabinet, or some variation. This was obviously an experiment.

"Hello darling," Hermione said, standing and smiling warmly. "I didn't realise it was lunch time. Want a bit of tea?"

Before Rose could answer, Hermione was in the small kitchen, pouring soup into two oversized mugs. Soup, of course, because Rose would refuse to eat anything more substantial. She must have been talking to the staff about Rose, which annoyed her. She thought about asking for a sandwich just to be defiant, but the idea of eating something so fluffy and crusty made her feel unwell. She accepted her cup of soup begrudgingly.

As always, it occurred to Rose just how much Hugo looked like their mother. He had her brown eyes, her warm skin tone, her dark curls. They had similar hands, even down to the same square nails. Not that you couldn't tell Rose was Hermione's daughter, for they shared some similarities, but not enough to pick it in a line up.

"How are you doing?" Hermione said, settling on the sofa. After standing there stupidly for a moment, Rose sat on the sofa, too. She wondered if this was what this would be, a sort of impromptu heart-to-heart. She and her mother were never very wordy people when it came to how they felt. They might bottle things up long enough that they burst into a fight, but otherwise, they were not the sort of mother and daughter for dramatic dialogues.

"Okay," Rose said instead.

"We never really talked after everything that happened in the staff room."

Rose hesitated, then realised that her mother must be more involved with the Order than Harry was, that her mother would know what was going on with Bellucci.

"Where are they keeping her?"

"Sorry?"

"Bellucci?"

Hermione frowned a little sadly. "In one of the towers. A bit ridiculous for my tastes, locking her in a _tower_. We can't let her try to escape anywhere. She would be more dangerous out there than she is here."

"What do you mean?"

"She jumps to whichever side is winning, doesn't she?"

"I…suppose."

Not sure what else to say, Rose took a loud slurp of her soup.

"Actually, dear," Hermione said, reaching forward to touch her knee, "I wanted to give you something. An early birthday present."

Rose hesitated, not sure what it was her mother wanted to give her. A gift? Some old family heirloom? Maybe a book, for her mother was of the opinion that every solution could be found in a book. Maybe there was a book entitled _How to Channel Your Grief into Blind Rage: A Guide for Traumatised Witches_. Her mother stooped down to retrieve a purple beaded bag, one that she often carried—although out of place—on trips or to work functions. It was odd that she had it, here, now, when they had to leave most of what they belonged at their old home when everyone came to the Hogsmeade siege.

She was expecting her mother to take a gift out of the bag—maybe a piece of jewellery or something, a gold watch perhaps—when her mother handed the entire pouch over to Rose.

"Er, thanks mum," Rose said, blinking at it stupidly. She placed her mug of soup aside. "It's…look, I know this is your favourite bag but I'm not really one for accessories—"

"This bag," Hermione said, lowering her voice, "has got me out of every tricky situation I've been in. I used it right through the Second Wizarding War. It saved our necks quite a few times, just ask Dad or Uncle Harry."

Rose stared at her mother in disbelief. She pinched the drawstrings and opened the bag, peering in, and was startled to find only blackness. She thought at first that it was really dark fabric lining. Rose reached in, her fingers grasping at the bag, then continued to grasp and grasp until almost her entire forearm was inside. She looked up at her mum, stunned.

"Undetectable Extension Charm, and a strong one at that," Hermione said. "I don't know what you're planning to do in the coming year, Rose, but whatever it is, don't just fly into it by the seat of your pants. Always be prepared."

* * *

The Quidditch stands were packed, more so than usual. Not just with students and staff relieved for some entertainment, but all of the Hogsmeade evacuees as well. The Slytherin team were slick with nervous in the changing rooms, their faces ashen. They were a patchwork group of people, some hardly having a month's worth of practice, the permanent absence of their star team player haunting them with unease. There was no celebratory mood, no big pep talk. Scorpius looked the grimmest of them all.

They called out the Slytherin team and he didn't move. The players glanced at one another nervously. Savvas cleared his throat, hoping to break Scorpius out of his reverie. It didn't work. He remained stock still, grinding his jaw and staring into middle space.

Toby Fleischer approached him, bracingly placing a hand on his shoulder.

"If you want to call the game off, we can," he said, very quietly.

With those words, Scorpius clenched his jaw and strode through into the pitch.

 _"It will be tough to beat Slytherin for the Cup today, with the 460 point lead won by the late Meredith Maxwell. New additions to the team include Savvas Demitriou as Beater and Isabella Nott as Chaser."_

Isabella looked around, licking her lips with nerves. It was James commentating, but he was being oddly well behaved. She noticed, with a start, that his father—Professor Potter—was sitting in the booth beside him. A rush of relief went through her. She turned back to the pitch, where Scorpius was already shaking hands with the Hufflepuff captain. Alice gave Isabella a firm nod.

 _"And they're off, Seekers already getting up to break-neck heights. Hufflepuff have possession._ _Look at that, Savvas Demitriou managed to miss the Bludger completely. I'm always_ _impressed by how unimpressive he is."_

"They're playing miserably," Imogen remarked from down in the stands, where she was sitting beneath Zabini's arm.

"It was a last ditch effort to get the team together," Zabini said, a little defensive.

"Wouldn't it save face to forfeit? They've won the competition anyway, why not just pull out? It's not like Slytherin hasn't done that in years gone by for less."

Imogen had a point—refusing to play, under the excuse that one of their players had perished, would mean Slytherin would surely clinch the Cup. Scorpius' determination to play the final match seemed absurd, especially with the way they were playing.

" _Hufflepuff scores for a second time. I'm stunned by how little reaction it get from Slytherin, it's like they're a bunch of zombies up there."_

It was a complete contrast from their last match; again and again, they failed to take possession of the Quaffle, and with such uncoordinated Beaters, they were unable to stop Hufflepuff from gaining points. In fact, the Hufflepuff team looked quite guilty for playing so well. Tallulah Hornby kept stalling before she would shoot for the goals. For once, Buckingham managed to block her, but even that seemed lacklustre.

 _"I really admire the Slytherins playing like this, truth be told," James' voice could be heard. "Not like those Hufflepuffs. The Hufflepuffs are the most depressing sort of people you'll ever meet. They're always in such high spirits. They're always laughing. It's exhausting."_

In a sudden burst of passion, Alice passed Isabella the Quaffle and gave her a signal. It was the first time she had held the Quaffle for more than a few minutes. As the Hufflepuff Chasers swarmed on her like bees, she charged upright like a cork coming out of a bottle, spiralling mid-air to the impressed _ooohs_ of the crowd. Many of the Hogsmeade residents applauded. When the Chasers had just reached her, she passed the Quaffle down to Alice, who scooped it up in her arms and charged for the goalposts.

 _"Oh, what a cracker of a Porksckoff Ploy! Slytherin's first points! Looks like Nott is more than just a pretty face, she's a pretty flier too. Unfortunately, there's no extra points for acrobatics. It's now eighty to ten."_

Hufflepuff had won against Gryffindor, and if they kept up their scoring, they may even have a chance of catching up on Slytherin's lead. Many of the Slytherin supporters were growing tense now. Zabini had unwrapped his arm from Imogen and was sitting on the edge of his seat.

The Porksckoff Ploy may have surprised everyone but it seemed to be the only trick up Slytherin's sleeve. Sterling was fouled for Flacking in what can only be described as desperation and Savvas 'accidentally' collided with the Hufflepuff Captain, knocking her off her broom and sending her into a horrible, crunching fall.

 _"That was a bad fall. Time out there for a bit of medical attention from Matron Longbottom. Not sure why Savvas is sending Lang to her death there, unless its to try and even up the two team's records. Right, I know, toe the line—"_ James was saying, to what was his father's off-air admonishments. " _Oh, looks like Lang's alright. Maybe a bit of a concussion but she's back in the air."_

It went on and on, to the point where people were growing anxious by how well Hufflepuff were playing—even James was growing increasingly concerned by the airborne train wreck they were all witnessing. It was just when things were looking dire for Slytherin—" _Hufflepuff now have a one-hundred and sixty point lead. With the points they won last match, and If they catch the Snitch now, they'll be able to bump Slytherin off their pedestal"—_ Scorpius went into a steep dive, so steep that the Slytherin Seeker seemed to hesitate at first, squinting to see what he had spotted.

"If this is a _Wronski feint_ , _Goldstein isn't falling for it. Slytherin has been rather sketchy with their ploys—no, wait, Malfoy really has seen it! He's going for it! There's no way Goldstein can catch up now! And look at that, Slytherin catch the Snitch. He's got it! Blimey, that means both Slytherin and Hufflepuff are tied, 160 each."_

The crowd was in a sate of disbelief, but then everyone broke out into cheers and applause. Goldstein pulled out of his dive, the fourth year looking particularly disappointed. But otherwise, no one seemed to really care that they had tied. The game was done. Both Ravenclaw and Gryffindor would never be able to catch up to Slytherin's score now; they were too far behind to make a difference in their final match. It was all over, Slytherin had won the Cup.

Everyone seemed to know it, too. Lorcan was already shaking his head—he wasn't going to play the final match. Nathan Corner was applauding the Slytherins, something he probably would have preferred to have chopped off his hands than done on previous circumstances. Both the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor Captains approached Harry, who was still in the announcer's box, and after a few short words it was decided that this would be it. No one wanted to play the final match in May. Not under these circumstances. Not like this.

 _"Why don't you look at that? It's a win from Slytherin from beyond the grave."_

* * *

The party was not as rowdy as usual. In fact, it felt like a somewhat celebratory funeral wake. Isabella has brought up her gramophone, but she was playing one of Scorpius' old records—an instrumental version of Singing Sorceresses, all their music from the 1940s, and very mournful music at that. No one was willing to dance, milling about on the corners of the Persian rug, toeing the tassels.

And, of course, there was Rose—dressed in all black. She was wearing a long satin slip that looked like one of Isabella's nightgowns, her nipples pert through the fabric, her hair red and wild like the last embers burning on a blackened, twisted matchstick. It was only while clad in the skimpy pyjamas that Scorpius realised how thin she had become. He was not surprised by that either; Rose avoided food, skipped meals, averted any opportunity to give her body nutrition. But it was alarming seeing her like this. Her sallow skin, no longer its bronzed olive tones. Her shoulder blades, poking out like brittle Thestral wings. She looked like death, and heads turned as she approached him, but the looks that stayed on her were troubled.

Her hand curled around a bottle of firewhiskey, already a third empty.

"So we won?"

"The match was a draw but we won the Cup."

Rose raised her eyebrows, expecting further explanation. It stung him to say the words.

"Meredith's lead in our match against Ravenclaw won us the Cup."

Of course that had been the case. It was impossible for anyone to catch up on those 460 points she had secured them. The last time they had thrown an after party, she had been on everyone's shoulders. And while Scorpius held the Cup in limp hands, Rose grew resolute. She tipped her firewhiskey into the trophy, the sound of the spirit leaving the bottle reminding them of a drowning man. _Gull-op-gull-op-gull-op._ She then stuck the cork back into the neck and gave him a hard look.

"Surely that's not hygienic," Scorpius said.

"Go up there and make a speech for her," Rose replied, completely sombre. She took him by the shoulders and spun him towards the table. "They need to be reminded why we won."

Scorpius carefully got on top of the table, everyone turning to face him. There was an immediate hush. All eyes waited with expectation, but none were as heavy as Rose's.

Scorpius felt the cold sweat on his hands, making the metal slippery.

"I have never considered myself much of an orator," he said, his voice carrying despite how soft it was. "I would get up here and speak as Captain because it was tradition. I would say a few words because I had to. If this were any other match, I would say that Isabella and Savvas played exceptionally well for their first game, with such little credence to their names. I would say that although we lost the match, we won the competition, and that is what counts.

"But there is no point in saying those kind of platitudes. For while we won this Cup, we know that we only won because of Meredith Maxwell. Who showed promise, who showed guts, who had the incredible spirit and determination of a true Slytherin. We are not drinking today to victory, but we drink to her memory."

Scorpius's breath caught. He closed his eyes for a moment to compose himself.

"And although it is hard, now, to do that—to go on playing the game—we must remember that it does not matter that we lost the battle at Hogsmeade. What matters is that we win the war. So we drink, today, to Meredith," he said, hoisting up the cup and taking a gulp from he firewhiskey.

Everyone raised their glasses, completely silent and solemn, drained them of their contents and then thrust them onto the ground where they shattered into pieces. Only one head was still tipped back, still gulping and gulping. Rose, right from the bottle, sculling it on her own until there was nothing left. Then, she took a deep breath and swung her arm back, smashing the bottle as if she was wielding a Beater's bat, shattering it against a bookcase so that the glass shards rained down as huge, barbed pieces.

Only an instrumental tango played in the silence, scratching through the gramophone. Scorpius jumped off the table and moved towards her, passing the Cup to Sterling. Rose's hands were bleeding from the broken neck of the bottle, which she clenched harder still. She let it fall to the floor and motioned towards the hidden stone door. Scorpius took her by the arm and led her out.

As the two Slytherins exited, everyone relaxed into conversation.

"A complete drama queen," Alice muttered, crossing her arms.

"She's dealing with a lot."

"We all are. We all lost a teammate. We all have to deal with it," Alice snapped, turning on Isabella.

"Have you even asked her what happened down at the siege?" Isabella said.

"We all know what happened."

"You know rumours," Sterling replied. "None of them talk about it. We don't really know."

"I know," Isabella said smoothly, "from Scorpius. They didn't just bring back her body. Honestly, Alice," Isabella huffed, shaking her head. "You should ask her. You used to be best friends. You don't know the full story."

* * *

It was the first real balmy night of the year, the air warmer than usual as they crept up to the Astronomy Tower. There was very little cloud, whips that darted across the pinpricked night. It was a perfect, panoramic view of the grounds and even, in the distance, Hogsmeade. They could see the lights of windows in dollhouses, the row of shops that seemed so small from a distance. From this distance and height, you would never guess that the town had been taken by the enemy.

Scorpius and Rose both too a seat near the rampart, where the telescopes had been packed away. Now that they were finally still, Scorpius lit his wand and turned them onto Rose's bloody hands.

"Let me fix this."

"No," she said harshly.

"Come on."

She twisted her arms away from him jerkily.

Scorpius didn't push the matter. Instead, he fished around in his Quidditch robes before pulling out a small brassy hand mirror with a twisted handle. Rose was startled by it. She had forgotten all about the mirrors—made off the grid, made when she was still keen and green and believing that war was a game to win.

"Albus," he said, wiping a finger over the glass. Her cousin's face appeared a moment later.

"Got lonely without me?" he asked.

"Could you meet Rose and I in the Astronomy Tower."

"On my way."

The glass returned to Scorpius' own blank expression before he pocketed it.

"How long have you been carrying them around?" Rose asked, unable to express how bewildered she was.

"Since the siege," he replied. "Albus too. In case anything was to happen. They're handy."

Which was why she had made them, last summer, which now felt like an infinity ago. The alcohol was sloshing through her now, hitting her head dizzily. The grounds of Hogwarts spun on strange angles, Hagrid's hut teetering on the corner of her vision. At least it was numbing any pain she ought to feel in her hands.

"I can't believe you played without her," Rose said quietly.

Scorpius said nothing. He stared out at the grounds in silence. Rose shook her head, trying to dislodge her own anger.

"We drew," Rose said, slurring a little.

"Sorry?"

"You said we lost the match—in your s-speech. But we drew."

Scorpius nodded slowly, not sure what difference that made, but he didn't want to argue with her. She turned and stared adamantly out at the grounds, her mind working over sluggishly.

"The end of term is next month but none of us will be able to go home, or have a holiday. Every time I think about how trapped we are I feel like I can't breathe."

"Do you ever think about running away and joining the muggles?" Scorpius asked.

"Hardly an option, is it?"

The door opened behind them and Albus poked his head around before joining his two friends by the rampart. He extracted his wand, lighting the tip of it like Scorpius.

"What's with the blood?"

"Can you fix Rose's hands? You're better at healing charms than I am," Scorpius said.

Albus patiently sat down, tilting Scorpius' wand over his cousin's bloody palms to get a clearer look. He conjured a pair of tweezers up and leaned forward, using them to carefully pick out the glass still in her skin.

"Have you found your magic has really improved this year?" Rose asked, almost conversationally.

"Yes," he said, frowning with concentration. "Not just from the classes either. We're having to use it more and more."

Rose watched, deeply impressed, as Albus carefully wove her cut skin back together like the lips of a zipper meeting again. A charm beyond her own skill level, although he always had an interest in Healing. Once done, he siphoned the blood from her hands with the end of his wand. Scorpius watched tentatively.

"We could do it," Rose mused, answering Scorpius' previous question. "There's no Government now, sss-so there's no Trace. I turn seventeen anyway in a week. We could escape, live among muggles, perform magic in secret."

"Would you really do that though?" Albus asked.

"No—no, I need to fight. We need to fight. But it would be a nice idea," she said, choosing her words very carefully now, even with her thick tongue and dizzy head. They sounded very heavy. She glanced at them both. "Even just for a day."

They looked back out at the grounds, where the city of tents flapped and swayed in the breeze, small campfires lit between the Hogsmeade residents that had fled to the grounds. They looked out toward the forest, where the mountains cradled the trees, and in this darkness the glow of the Refuge Tree could almost be seen, like a trick of the knowing eyes. While the boys sat silent, turning over the possibilities, the thought of desertion, Rose already had her plan.

She just had to wait for them to catch up to her.

* * *

When Rose entered her dormitory many hours later, with the echo of her drunken demeanour still rattling around in her head, she chose to take a shower and just sleep. Whatever had happened, whatever was going on, at least she had a plan in play. Her own game-plan, much sharper than Scorpius'.

With a start, she realised that the bathroom wasn't free. Alice had just stepped out of the shower, reaching for a towel. She was startled, too, for a moment, caught in her nakedness. But then she returned to her usual brusque self, very contained, wrapping the towel tightly over her flat chest.

"Didn't expect a perv."

"Sorry," Rose stumbled, "I thought everyone had gone to bed."

Recoiling with this unusual state of vulnerability, Alice paused by the sink. Her short wet hair clung to her face so she brushed it back quickly. It surprised Rose that she didn't just storm by, that she was entertaining her with a long, beady-eyed look.

"You alright?"

"Yeah," Rose said. "I cut my hand but it's fixed."

Alice nodded slowly. There was a lot of steam still in the air and it was making Rose agitated standing there in her slip. She wanted to take her clothes off, too. She wanted to be clean.

"You never said," Alice said, perching herself on the sink, "what happened down in Hogsmeade."

"You know what happened," Rose said coldly.

"Not—not really."

"I'm not going to publish the gory details for you to get off on," she replied, her voice sharp. She suddenly felt sick from the thought. When she let her head go there, it was always the same—and urge to vomit, or scream, or pull her hair out from the roots. She could choke on it like bile.

She choked out words instead. "I can't believe you all played."

Alice frowned a little, almost a scowl but not quite. Why was the toying with Rose? For sport? The same way she would shove her fingers into Volker's cage to see whether she'd get bitten? She gave Rose a curious look.

"You never even liked Maxwell. All you ever did was whinge about her. It's all you ever did. Even when she was on the team, you hardly ever gave her the light of day. So I don't get why it bothers you _so_ much," Alice said, her voice a little hoarse, exposing Rose like this. "It's terrible but it's like you're catatonic. Like she was the end of your world but you always treated her like nothing."

Rose could feel it. The vomit. Or the scream. Something building up and up in her, the drunk, messy ferocity brought about by grief and drink.

"She was on my back!" Rose gasped in a strangled voice. The steam made her face red and prickly. It made her open up like an oyster. "They broke her legs so I carried her out on my back when we were trying to escape but it slowed me down—it slowed me down and they threw a knife to get me but it got her instead. They were aiming for _me_ ," Rose said, her chest throbbing. "She was on _my_ back. She was on my back and they hit her with the knife that was supposed to get me and she _died_ while I carried her and I thought she was safe the whole time. I thought she was—I thought—she was _safe_."

Sobs tore at her, ripped through her. It was grief and guilt and something else, even stronger, that she couldn't identify. Something that crushed her lungs and made it impossible to breathe.

Alice stared at her for a really long time, like she was witnessing a wounded beast and had no idea how to help it, was horrified by it. After several minutes had past, she walked towards Rose and slowly slipped her hands around her, wet arms burying Rose's wet face.

* * *

On the day of Rose's birthday, Scorpius tiptoed into her room, gently placing a small piece of parchment by her shoulder. It was about six in the morning, but Rose was already awake—she had been unable to sleep—and only gave him an enquiring look before he pressed a thin finger to his lips. He was dressed in a grey shirt and Muggle jeans, looking as if he was about to head out for a trip in London. Rose sat up, watching him sneak back out of the dorm, before she turned her attention to the little card. She grabbed her wand from under her pillow and illuminated it so she could read it.

 _Meet me outside the common room in ten minutes. Dress like a Muggle._

Dress like a Muggle. She didn't stop to think about it. She pulled on some jeans, grabbed a singlet and her red sneakers. It was early, and still brisk, so she grabbed a jacket too. Inside of it, she carefully tucked her wand, as well as her mother's purple beaded bag. This would be it.

"I have a bit of a surprise," Scorpius said, jerking both their broomsticks over his shoulders.

"If this is a ploy to get me to re-join the team…"

"It's not, Merlin, can't you just trust that I'm doing something nice for you?"

Rose grunted, following him out of the Castle into the cold, damp morning. They rushed down the sloping hills, now passing Hagrid's hut and the sea of tents that ruffled in the wind, some of which had been magically modified to have birdbaths or windvanes or any other number of domestic additions that would comfort the Hogsmeade evacuees. They could hear a baby crying, but otherwise, it was all quiet—everyone still asleep. The sky was just beginning to blush with its first light.

Further down, where the path into the Forbidden Forest began, Albus was waiting. He was also dressed in muggle clothes—a pale pink t-shirt and light denim jeans, and an oversized denim jacket that used to belong to his father (and which before him, belonged to his father's cousin Dudley). He, too, was also sporting his broomstick.

"Good morning," Albus said, smiling as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. "It's less conspicuous if we start on foot."

"True. Let's not risk being spotted."

"What's going on?"

"We're going for a bit of a day tip," Albus smiled furtively.

They set off into the forest, Rose's heart pounding with a sudden rush of excitement. So, they had found a way _out_ of the castle, past all of the tricky ancient magic, past all of the adults, even past the goblins! A way that wasn't the Whomping Willow, which Rose now knew would be collapsed at the other end—and who knows what would be waiting there even if it weren't. They continued walking, and walking, to the point where over an hour had past and a stitch was beginning to burn in her side. She was no longer playing Quidditch and no longer eating well—her body was getting fatigued far too easily. The boys hardly seemed to notice.

"We've past the refuge tree, haven't we?" she asked, when they had continued walking for another thirty minutes.

"We're heading towards the mountains," Albus replied, using his wand to point him in the right direction. "That's where the Hogwarts charms wear off."

It was dense and dark now in the forest, the ground still wet from the misty dew of the night. Rose saw something trample by in the nearby scrub, the leaves shivering after it, but never caught a glimpse of what it was. She could feel her heart pounding a little harder than she expected.

Play it cool, she reminded herself. Don't panic.

"If we can get off the grounds through the forest, then what's to say the goblins can't get onto the grounds through the same route?" she asked.

"We think they're too afraid to cross the Centaurs," Albus said.

"Aren't _we_ too afraid to cross the Centaurs?"

"Hope that we don't," Scorpius murmured.

The deeper they walked into the trees, their steeper their path grew. As they continued up the incline, Rose grew weary. They had to stop twice so she could regain her breath, even though Scorpius was carrying her broomstick.

Finally, the boys stopped. They weren't even _on_ the mountain, just as its base, but they both seemed satisfied. Rose doubled over until she caught her breath, blinking away the spots that danced before her vision. Scorpius handed Rose her broomstick.

"What's the plan?" she gasped, massaging her stitch.

"We fly to Dufftown," Scorpius grinned. "For a day. We looked it up on the map and it's rather close."

"I hear they have a brilliant Salvation Army second hand store," Albus added.

"Oh, please, no dead people's clothes," Scorpius replied.

Rose glanced at them both before securing her wild hair into a bun. She mounted her broomstick.

"Alright, who do we follow then?"

"Me," Albus said, also mounting his broom. "I know the route."

Although she didn't admit it out loud, she was glad to be out of the forest, which gave her the creeps that early in the morning. It was now around nine, and they would probably be flying for quite some time, especially due to the detours Albus took to keep out of site of Muggle roads. Not that it mattered, Rose thought. There was no Ministry to punish them if they were caught.

They flew close to the clouds for cover, soon having left Hogwarts behind completely. The adrenalin rush of having escaped was enough to keep Rose thrumming with excitement. Whether the boys realised it or not, Rose was particularly keen about one thing—if they were attacked, they had an escape route out of Hogwarts.

Flying didn't bring Rose the joy or freedom that was evident on both the boys' faces. Instead, she gripped her broom handle with fixed determination. This wasn't a joy ride for her. At times, she felt a pang of fear when she realised how high they were, a fear that previously would not have touched her. As the green fields of Scotland sped by beneath their dangling feet, Rose was keenly aware of how easy it would be for one of them to fall.

There was no point thinking this way, she reminded herself. Stealthily, she touched her breast pocket and made sure that the little purple beaded bag was still there.

As they spotted Dufftown in the distance, Albus began to go into a gradual descent. Rose and Scorpius followed, until they had landed some distance off, near an old windmill that looked out of use.

"We'll stash our brooms in there," Albus said, nodding to it.

"Brilliant," Rose said, sighing a little. "More walking."

"We'll grab some lunch as soon as we get into town," Scorpius said, looking quite anxious that Rose had not been instantly cured of her surliness at their departure of Hogwarts.

It was, of course, a tremendous joy to be in a town like Dufftown on a day like that. It was mid-morning. The town bustled in the pale blue sky, the fluffy shadows of clouds drifting over the historic houses. Bunting flittered off the clock tower in Dufftown's main street, merrily waving them on in the breeze.

They had brunch in one of the small, stone cafes on the main street. Both boys grinned as Rose ordered eggs and bacon, sausage, an omelette and toast. As the waiter disappeared with their orders, she turned to glare at them.

"What? I'm _hungry_."

"That's not a bad thing," Scorpius chuckled.

She knew what they were both thinking; that they were glad to have the old, ravenous Rose back. But she was only irritated by this and slid the saltshaker towards them.

"We'll need all our strength today, won't we?" she jibed, looking from one to the other. When she read their confusion, she added, "We have a big day ahead."

"That we do," Albus grinned.

They ate their food with gusto, hungry from the early start and all the energy spent flying. Albus carefully extracted his Muggle notes, peeling them from the bunch. He didn't have much Muggle money to spend, and there was no place to exchange their galleons and sickles now that Gringotts had gone to the goblins.

They returned to the streets, the midday sun soaking everything in rich light. They headed to Dufftown Clock Tower, where they picked up tourist pamphlets and poked around the nearby flowerbeds.

After perusing the pamphlets, it was clear there was nothing to _do_ in Dufftown. It was a completely ordinary town. It was so absolutely ordinary that it felt like they had been dropped into another planet. Rose squinted along the streets, shielding her eyes from the sun, pausing to examine the window display in the shops. Muggled walking their dogs or pushing prams smiled at them as they crossed paths. A policeman even squinted at them suspiciously, as if wondering why they weren't at school.

Here, they were a bunch of seventeen year olds. They were truants, just skipping school. They were out of the street without any money left in their pockets. They were without any worries or concerns. As they continued down the streets, the tension leaving their shoulders, Rose knew there was no way she could stay anywhere like this. She could never live among Muggles—the mere thought of it made her crave going home, but there was no home to return to. Hogsmeade was taken, Diagon Alley was a warzone, the Ministry had fallen. There was no magical place left to turn to in Great Britain and he suddenly felt very forlorn.

The ventured into St Mary's Church, their footsteps bouncing over the empty pews. It was built in the gothic style, dark grey bricks on the outside and white vaulted ceilings internally. They were silent for a little while, gazing at the stained glass windows at forgotten saints who had no doubt martyred for their cause.

"This place is incredibly boring," Rose acknowledged.

"Worse than Ottery St Catchpole," Albus agreed.

"Are all the Muggle towns like this? It makes sense why Meredith was so keen to go to Hogsmeade," she said, the last words dying from her mouth. She turned to glance at Scorpius, who has his eyes shut and his face stone still. Rose frowned at him.

"What are you doing?"

"Praying," he said. He opened his eyes a moment later and smiled, "let's go."

They visited a manky, little place called 'The Whiskey Museum', a-hole-the-wall shop festooned with bunting in blue window frames. They entered with the tinker of a bell, and upon seeing the rows upon rows of whiskey mounted on the walls, Rose's eyes lit up.

"Why didn't we start _here_?" Rose asked, spinning around to take in the museum. "At least this is mildly on my wavelength."

They got into a twenty-minute conversation with a volunteer at the museum, who explained the history of whiskey smugglers, and took them on a tour of the old memorabilia of nearby distilleries.

"Say," the tour guide said, eyeing them over his bushy beard, "are you lot of age?"

"Of course," Scorpius said.

"It's actually my birthday," Rose added, tweaking a smile. "Officially of age."

In the Magical world, at least, Rose thought. Here, she was still a child. The distinction felt comforting.

"Is it now? Could you show me some ID?"

Albus withered slightly. "Sorry?"

"Aye, I'm no bampot, dear boy. Everyone tries the birthday line when they want a nip."

"Oh, we have ID," Scorpius said, taking out his wand and aiming it directly at the man. He seemed to blink several times, his eyes slightly dazed, clearly Confounded.

"What was I saying?" he said.

"We were just getting a taste test of the town's best whiskey."

"Aye, that's right, that's right," he said, shuffling behind one of the counters and taking out three small shot glasses.

No one questioned Scorpius' ethics as they took down shot after shot, breathing out their fiery breaths. Rose's cheeks had gone very ruddy. They returned to the streets then, a bit dizzy from the drink, the sun lower now than it had been. The air was a little more chilly in the afternoon.

"We should head back," Scorpius said, glancing at his watch. "We should get home by dinner. We don't want anyone realising we're missing."

"I suppose," Rose hummed, drifting down the street. "This was a bit lovely now, wasn't it?"

"It was," Albus agreed.

"I don't really fancy going back just yet," she added, frowning up at the clock tower. But they had a long flight back, then a long walk to the Castle, and if they were going to get things done according to her plan, they needed to leave now. "Oh, c'mon then," she sighed, sliding her arms between both the boys' and dragging them up the street.

They retrieved their broomsticks from the windmill, thoroughly exhausted from all the walking. This was probably a conspiracy on Scorpius' behalf to force Rose to physically exercise, which he insisted released endorphins. They mounted their brooms and set off.

The wind carried them faster than they expected on the journey back. A huge gaggle of geese almost collided with them in mid air, honking indignantly (and slightly fearful) at Albus while Rose almost fell from her broom due to her fit of laughter. They continued on, winding their way back towards Hogwarts by following a river, and occasionally, using their wands to check which direction they were moving in. As they neared Hogsmeade, Rose took lead of their small pack, descending just off the path of the Shrieking Shack. Scorpius yelped in surprise, he and Albus whipping out their wands.

"Rose," Scorpius hissed. "What are you doing?"

"Landing," she said, her eyes darting over the ground to check it was clear. She touched down gently, immediately taking cover beside a pile of boulders and surveying their whereabouts.

The boys landed with a clump behind her. The first thing she did was cast a Muffliato Charm, _just_ in case. Scorpius and Albus were surely about to kick up a fuss.

"What are you doing?" Scorpius repeated.

The coast was clear. Rose stashed her broom beneath the boulders, then ruffled around inside her jacket until she pulled out the little beaded bag. Both the boys stared at it in confusion.

"What's going on?" Albus reiterated.

"This is our chance," Rose replied, putting her arm elbow deep into the little bag and groping around in it.

"Our chance to do what?"

Frustrated, Rose reclaimed her arm and pointed her wand into the bag instead. " _Accio_ _potions_."

A series of small phials popped out of the bag, arced through the air, and fell neatly into Rose's lap. She shuffled through them all quickly, accounting for each. They were a hoarded stash of all of Scorpius' prize-won potions from Bellucci's double-period potions classes. All sorts of things—Invisibility Potions, Wit-Sharpening Potions, and of course, the golden bottle of Felix Felicis, which Rose had won herself.

"Most of those are mine," Scorpius said, indignant. "How did you—"

"Think of a better hiding place than your socks," Rose replied, tucking the bag back into her jacket. "This is the plan. We take the potions, sneak into Hogsmeade and find Romnuk."

"We _find_ Romnuk," Albus repeated, incredulous.

"And we kill him," Rose finished.

" _Kill_ him?"

They both stared at her horrified.

"We're in a war, aren't we?" Rose snapped. "And we have a prophecy predicted about us, don't we? And we have Meredith to think about."

Scorpius drew very close to Rose, gripping her wrist tightly to stop her from raising the first potion to her lips. He looked infuriated.

"What did my dad say to you?"

"What?"

"What did he say that put this idea into your head?"

She wrenched her arm free, looking furious. "He didn't have to say anything."

"I thought you loathed Bellucci," Albus said, scrambling for excuses. "You're okay now with using all her potions?"

"Yes," Rose said, "especially if it means we kill Romnuk."

"You want to go _back_ in there," Albus asked, pointing towards the village.

She faced them both squarely, now steady enough to speak, no doubt due to whichever potion she had just drunk. Her blue eyes were very sharp and bright, darting between them both.

"I have a plan," she said, nodding towards the potions. "All I needed was for you two to find a way for us to get out of the Castle. If you want to go back, you can. I'm not going to make you come with me. But I'm going into the village and I'm finding Romnuk."

Rose spoke with the conviction of an adult, of a soldier.

She was both.

* * *

 **A/N: My sister got married (hurrah), and I had my heart broken (by the Imogen of my own love story, go figure). I incidentally wrote the bulk of this chapter while sitting alone in my office cubicle.**

 **At least it was a productive distraction! And man, I sure do need to visit a whiskey museum right about now.**

 **Enjoy this chapter, we are awfully close to the end of Volume II, I think.**


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

—CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO—

"You have a plan," Scorpius repeated slowly, squatting down beside Rose, his hands balanced on his knees. "Why not think through it first?"

"What's there to think through?" Rose asked stubbornly. "We're invisible. We'll have taken a dozen potions. We have the Felix Felicis. If we split these potions by three, we have about an hour."

"Forty-five minutes if you're lucky," Scorpius corrected.

"But we _will_ be lucky," Rose said, tweaking the golden bottle of liquid luck in front of his eyes.

Neither of them was convinced. Albus and Scorpius glanced each other, both opening their mouths and hesitating on the admonitions they wanted to make. The usual precautions no longer applied—there was no one to really get in trouble with, either in the school or by the law. There was no moral high horse to mount, as what Rose was suggesting seemed to be inevitable. They were in a war, and if they really did take stock in the Centaur's stargazing, then eventually they would be called to action.

"I want revenge," Rose said coldly. "And I want this war to end. Both of those things could happen today."

There were a few more beats where the boys held Rose under very hard look—an 'are you completely mental' look. But the look in Rose's eyes—the sharp, dangerous look of someone completely mental—must have been contagious, because Albus caught it almost instantly.

"Bloody hell. Fine, I'm in."

"Al, we need to be better prepared for this."

"You must be barking if you'd think I'd let her go in on her own," Albus said, turning on Scorpius. "If Rose does this, then I'm with her."

It was two against one, and it was enough to give their ringleader a majority. Scorpius tore his fingers through his hair so it was on end, a halo of silver blond lightening bolts, so he looked like a particularly vexed angel.

"But you don't even have a _real_ plan! Suicide mission aside, do you know how dangerous it is to consume this many potions in one go?"

There was no stopping them, no dissuading them. The cousins were already bundling up the phials and progressing further towards the village, to a closer vantage point, forcing Scorpius to follow after them. Rose unstoppered a small bottle of Invisibility Potion. She handed it over to Albus, both of them sharing the briefest and grimmest of grins. Rose had made up her mind, as always, without having discussed things first. Albus was functioning off of pure bravery and blind loyalty. Without Scorpius, there was no chance they would survive—even if they had a boatload of liquid luck.

"Don't drink it!" Scorpius said, grabbing Albus so he wouldn't take down the Invisibility Potion. He quickly lowered his voice, scanning the surrounding road to make sure they hadn't been heard. "If you drink it then your apparel will remain visible."

He took the phial in his fishbone fingers and held his wand over it, giving it a cautious stir before the liquid emerged as a fine mist, dousing them like perfume. They closed their eyes as it faded across their faces, and once they had opened them again, they could no longer see each other. The potion had worked.

"Did you just use the word apparel?" Rose's voice enquired, full of mirth that was completely inappropriate for the task at hand.

But now that the first potion had been taken, they had to consume the rest as quickly as possible, knowing full well that they were already racing the clock. It was far too late to turn back now, or begin to have regrets.

The very last thing they did was share three nips of the Felix Felicis, warmer and bolder than the whiskey from earlier in the afternoon. Any hesitation that may have still been dwelling amid the trio quickly dissolved as a sudden burst of confidence overcame them. In Albus, it was bravado. In Scorpius, it was conviction. In Rose, it was fearlessness. They set off towards the village, humming with unplanned plots to murder.

* * *

"Hush now, babies, don't move," Victoire murmured, gently weaving her way through the Antipodean Opaleyes, stepping over their long tails—they had returned one to Australia, the only girl among the brood, as to avoid interbreeding. Her two brothers had grown larger in her absence, long and powerful and almost at full size. They turned their heads affectionately towards Victoire as she crooned to them.

"Hardly babies," Teddy mused, holding the bucket of goat entrails behind her.

"You know very well they're babies," Victoire cooed, using her wand to float the meat high into the air, where the two dragons snapped up in hungry maws.

Adam was calling out in complaint, leaning against the enclosure's static bubble fence, as if peering into an aquarium, grumbling about Victoire being the only one (other than Charlie) who was allowed to feed the Opaleyes. Teddy would have happily traded place with Adam, never having gotten used to being this close and personal with the great beasts. As always, he flinched when one of the dragons flung its head towards his now empty bucket, sniffing around for the bloody morsels at the bottom.

"They like me best," Victoire called to Adam. With a sly grin, she added, "they know I respect them."

"Hmm, too bad we don't particularly respect the goats," Teddy mused. He tipped the rest of the blood into the dragon's trough, and they scattered across the enclosure to lap it up. The smell was rather unpleasant so he tried to breathe through his mouth while he followed his wife back out of the enclosure. "Will this be our ordinary life then? Shall we settle down as a sweet married couple who flies a typical Cleansweep and has two-point-five Antipodean Opaleye babies?"

"Dragons are less work than children," Victoire conceded. She handed Teddy's bucket over to Adam and gestured back towards the barn from where they had come. The temperament of the Opaleyes had quickly made them the Sanctuary's favourites, but they did not tolerate any of the other handlers, especially since they tried to saddle the dragons. Victoire was visiting them more and more in private, convinced that they had bonded to her, even though Charlie insisted for safety that they always travelled into the enclosures in pairs.

They returned to the barn, where Venn was labouring over a newly added metalsmith shop. The sound of the hammering and the heat coming off the metal in waves made everyone take a few extra steps back. Everyone, of course, but Charlie, who was almost leaning over the fire, fascinated by the goblin's work. A moment later, Venn was plunging his tongs into a strange, dark silver potion that sizzled upon contact, and then seemed to glow ominously.

"I thought goblins were supposed to be secretive about their magic," Victoire noted, stripping off her gloves.

"Looks like Venn is eager to repay us the debt for his life," Teddy said. Then, a little louder, he called, "What's he making?"

Venn turned around, removing his goggles and using his tongues to extract a large silver piece that was long and triangular, imbued with the dazzle of goblin made metal. He twisted it this way and that, then placed it on the table, along with several other pieces.

Charlie shook his head. "Beats me. Looks a bit like a dragon muzzle, but the shape's all wrong."

Teddy addressed the question for a second time to Venn himself, who seemed pleased to answer in his native tongue. While they chatted, Charlie approached them both, speaking directly to his niece.

"One of the secrets to forging goblin-wrought silver is using dragon flames when annealing," he said, his eyebrows at his hairline. "You wouldn't even think it, would you? But that's why the metal is indestructible."

While this information was clearly coveted, Victoire merely crossed her arms and assessed Venn distrustfully. Why was he choosing to share so much information—not just openly enacting the ancient art of metallurgy, but even how keen he was to converse with her husband seemed unusual.

Teddy ran his fingers through his blue hair, looking a little stunned.

"Not a muzzle," he said, gesturing at the silver. "Dragon armour."

"Armour?" Victoire said, her voice tweaking up an octave. She immediately remembered the handlers trying to saddle the Opaleyes and felt a little green. "Tell him our dragons aren't war machines."

Teddy sent her an ' _of course they're not'_ look, but Victoire only returned a stubborn expression, mirrored by a set of knotted arms, as she waited for her husband to convey the message. Venn seemed surprised by her refusal, then offered what sounded like conciliatory words.

Teddy translated again. "He says even if they don't fight, they need to be protected."

"From _what_?" Victoire was clearly offended. She had been the one to first discover and disseminate the goblin's plans to use dragons like weapons of mass destruction, and while it had cost her job at the _Daily Prophet_ , she was still just as vehement against the idea.

"Where'd you get the silver from?" Teddy asked, changing tact. He turned to Charlie, who was still studying the silver potion with curiosity. "It's ridiculously hard to get a hold of, isn't it? The strikes and all that, not to mention nothing getting in and out of goblin territory these days."

"We melted down the dragon trap Venn was caught in," Charlie said.

"Clever," Adam murmured, drawing nearer to examine the armour.

"I don't see why he's making us armour," Victoire persisted, clearly unable to drop it. She walked around so she could examine the several plates of metal, none of which had been assembled. "This is ridiculous. Does he really think we're going to use our dragons as murder machines?"

* * *

"Don't throw the word murder around," Rose muttered, squinting down the main street. The Liquid Luck was making it both easier and harder to focus. She was almost vibrating with all the potions she had consumed. "We're in a war. It doesn't count as murder if we're in a war."

"Debatable," Scorpius whispered back.

"Self-defence," Albus offered.

"Except we're on the offense this time, aren't we?"

" _Sh_."

"I'm honestly fine with being a murderer," Scorpius bit back, a little heatedly, "I just don't want to play down the enormity of what a bunch of seventeen year olds are about to do—"

" _Sh_!"

Rose pinched him, finding his arm despite the fact he was invisible. A goblin was approaching, making his way from the perimeter of the street towards the main strip, which must have still been mined. At least, every nerve in Rose's body tingled as if to warn her that it was a wrong move away from being blown sky-high. They watched as the goblin carefully stepped from one patch to the next. It was immediately obvious what they should do.

"Copy him," she whispered. Rose gave both the boys' arms a squeeze, and then took off in pursuit, very carefully tracing the same route the goblin was taking. They wove a very tight, complicated pattern as they made their way down the strip, following in his footsteps exactly.

If they didn't have a goblin to follow, getting out of Hogsmeade would be a nightmare. Rose didn't let herself dwell on the thought though. She had to keep her focus on her feet. All it would take was one wrong move—even to hover over the ground where a mine was planted would be enough to set it off.

Luckily, they were incredibly lucky. They found the goblin's footholds perfectly. It helped, too, that they had taken a potion to increase their senses, and their agility. The sort of performance enhancing potions that got kids banned from Quidditch. It occurred to Rose that Bellucci may have cheated her way onto the team back when she was a Slytherin student.

The errant though slipped from her mind as they approached the Three Broomsticks, for the first time since the siege. Rose felt her throat close. Above the door, hanging by her hair from the Three Broomstick's signpost, was the waitress' head, Claretta. Her head was shrunken now, a bloodless bluish pallor arresting its personality or prettiness. She didn't look human anymore.

The goblin entered the bar, the head dangling over him as the door slammed shut. _Don't go through the front door,_ Rose thought. She wasn't sure what prompted the thought, but the idea of passing underneath the shrunken head set her skin cold.

She held out her arms, feeling both Albus and Scorpius walk right into them. She grabbed hold of their shirts and pulled them around the back of the pub. Her heart was beating faster now. The street outside the back entrance was also mined, so they stayed close to the walls as they walked. The kitchen would be empty, she knew, because everyone was upstairs. Of course, they would be upstairs.

The kitchen _was_ empty, although it was a complete mess. Evidence of it being recently ransacked was palpable—all the crates of food had been emptied and overturned, all the cutlery spilled over countertops, bottles of half finished liquor uncorked and left half drunk. A huge cauldron boiled with bubbling broth, filling the room with a stale smell.

"Do you three get the sense that we need to go upstairs?" Scorpius' voice asked.

Both Rose and Albus agreed.

"How're you planning on killing him?" Albus asked.

Rose didn't respond right away. She, too, was certain that they needed to go upstairs. It was a gut feeling that she couldn't ignore. She lifted the lid on the boiling cauldron—which due to her invisibility—seemed to fly into the air of its own accord. She leaned forward and gave it a whiff.

"Rose?"

"I'm not sure," she said. There was enough rage in her that she was sure she could have performed the Killing Curse, but something about that made her uneasy. She looked at all the kitchen knives lining the walls and thought that stabbing him might work nicely—if, of course, he was not wearing his armour.

But an inkling feeling stopped Rose from grabbing the knife. She hesitated, buzzing on an inclination she couldn't quite place.

Even without being able to see her, Scorpius sensed her hesitation.

"Are you certain you want to do this?"

" _Yes_ ," she said, hissing across to where she thought Scorpius stood. "I know I can do it."

"I'm not doubting your abilities, Rose."

"Just my nerve."

"Trust me, I know you have the nerve for this, too. I'm just getting this feeling—"

"Merlin, stop bickering," Albus muttered. Then, he froze as he heard footsteps coming towards the kitchen from inside the bar. They all went quiet. Rose stepped hastily away from the cauldron.

The double doors opened as a goblin thumped his way into the room. It was the goblin with the tattoo that ran across his brow, who had been one of the goblins to hold them hostage during the siege. He had tortured them for information. They recognised him immediately. Mister Arrowbrows.

As a collective reflex, the trio hung back. Every fibre in Rose's body screamed to hurt him, but he wasn't the target, and attacking him was the wrong move. This was like a game of chess; it was tempting to take the smaller pieces when they crossed her path, but Rose had to think strategically.

The goblin stared for a moment at the lid, which had been placed askew over the cauldron. He squinted at it suspiciously, his small black eyes darting over the kitchen, searching. Then, he reached out and placed it back onto the cauldron correctly. He leant down and began scavenging through a nearby crate of cabbages.

It was their chance to exit. Taking the boys' arms again, Rose carefully led them backyards toward the doors.

Yet, it was difficult to walk through such a narrow space while invisible, where one could not judge where one's limbs would land. It was almost inevitable that Scorpius would accidentally knocked a bottle of firewhiskey over with his elbow. It clattered onto its side, alcohol spilling across the bench.

The goblin jumped up, the box of cabbages in his arms. He looked around again, fright in his eyes.

He spoke in Gobbledegook, and although Rose had never spoken a word of Gobbledegook in her entire life, and had no idea what he had just said, she knew if she opened her mouth she would be able to speak every word in Goblin as if it were her native tongue.

" _You will die here_ ," she said. Her attempt at their foreign language was completely flawless. Even her accent was correct; guttural and gruff. " _You should flee_."

The room now smelt heavily of whiskey, the contents of the bottle still spilling down the bench and splattering the floor. The goblin dropped the box of cabbages on the silver bench and freed a knife from his belt. He spoke again, and although Rose didn't understand him, she understood the fear in his voice. It was clearly not customary in the Goblin Kingdom to have disembodied voices speak in Gobbledegook.

" _Goblins have died in this building before_ ," she said, taking the boys by the arms and backing towards the doors again. She had no plan, no plan at all. When the door would open behind them, he would know where they were. She trusted the toxic cocktail of potions pumping through her blood. " _Rebellions have started and ended in this building. You will also die_."

They were almost at the kitchen doors.

The goblin was brandishing his knife, trying to locate the source of the voice, of what he must have thought was a ghost. Then, the trickling firewhiskey reached the fire beneath the cauldron, and there was a sudden explosion of flames, a column that almost reached the ceiling. Mister Arrowbrow's back was to the cauldron, and the flames singed him from behind. He jumped forwards with a shriek and impaled himself on his own knife. The fire caught the box of cabbages that had just been placed on the bench, and then, half the kitchen was ablaze.

They didn't stay to watch him die; they were out of the kitchen, heading quickly for the stairs, but just as they had reached them, they heard thundering from the floor above. They paused by the bannister, breathless now, as a group of ten goblins descended in a frenzy, wands and swords at the ready, seeing the black smoke billowing from the kitchen. With shouts, they headed towards the flames, jets of water spilling limply from their wands.

But there was no sight of Romnuk. Something in Rose's gut convinced her to go upstairs. If she wanted revenge, that's where she would need to go.

"Since when do you speak Gobbledegook?" Albus whispered, breathless.

"I don't," Rose whispered back, her adrenalin racing through her veins. "I just opened my mouth and could."

The door where the goblin's meeting must have been taking place moments earlier had been left open in their rush. They moved towards it, readjusting their wands in their sweaty hands. Rose glanced at her watch before remembering it was invisible. She had no idea how much time was left on the clock, but they ought to do this quick. The potions had to be wearing off, and in their absence, she was aware of the nauseous prickling in her stomach.

They darted into the room, the three of them back to back, wands ready. But the room was empty.

Or, at least, there were no goblins inside. Romnuk wasn't waiting there, hunched over his hammer. However, the room was not, in fact, empty. It was packed with half a dozen enormous crates. As soon as she saw them, Rose knew that this was the reason she had been called up to this room.

"Albus, shrink these crates down."

"What?"

"Just _do_ it," Rose snapped, realising that they were running out of time. Sweat was running down her face. "All of them. To the size of a matchbox."

Albus, who was best at charms, set to work. Rose, on the other hand, was fumbling inside her jacket to find the little purple bag once more. When she pulled it out of her pocket, she realised with a start that it was visible.

"Merlin," she hissed, unclasping it. Her coat jacket was beginning to rematerialize. "We're running out of Invisibility Potion."

"It wears off more quickly when it's vapour," Scorpius supplied. His shoes were now visible by the door. Rose was irked by that—he could have mentioned it earlier.

"I'm done," Albus said, the crates now the size of several matchboxes. "What now?"

Rose snatched up the miniscule cargo and dropped it into her mother's old beaded bag. As the seconds ticked by, more and more of their visage was reappearing. Scorpius' ashen face swam into view, looking just as woozy as Rose felt.

"We need to go," he said.

"Yes, but—"

"He isn't _here_ , Rose," Scorpius insisted. "And these potions are going to give us acute toxicity symptoms if we don't get an antidote soon."

There was no arguing with him, especially now that they could hear several shouts from downstairs. They took off towards the staircase, black smoke billowing up to meet them. Rose clamped a hand over her mouth. If only they had learnt how to cast a Bubble Head Charm! But that was seventh year magic, and Rose had never thought it useful to try and learn. She realised, with a coiling feeling in her stomach, that their luck was dwindling.

But still, the smoke gave them one advantage—the goblins couldn't see them.

"Romnuk?" one yelled from inside the kitchen, fumbling through the doors and stumbling into the pub. He was responding to the noise of them coming down the stairs, but the trio was quiet now. The kitchen doors were completely blackened and bursts of black smoke coiled through the room. Everything smelt acrid, clogging their lungs. They all dropped down, low, where it was tricker to see them through the smoke, and it was easier to breathe.

There would be no exit from the back, not with the kitchen half collapsed and full of goblins. It would also be impossible to weave their way through the landmines buried under the Main Street—even more difficult without a host to follow and very little liquid luck left in their systems. Still, it was their only option. Rose threw open the front door and heard a piercing scream above her heard.

"Shit," Scorpius hissed, looking up.

It was the reanimated head of Claretta, shrieking into the street like a horrible alarm system.

Goblins came racing out behind them, towards the doors. The boys ducked hexes that skimmed the top of their heads. There was no time to make attempts at complex magic. Rose aimed her wand at the street and screamed, " _Avis_!"

An eruption of birds soared from her wand tip and flew low over the earth, and in their wake, several explosions rocked the ground. Bomb after bomb, shaking the doorway they crouched under. The goblins cried out in shock, the hexes stopped coming. Their ears popped from the sound. The explosions shook the foundation of the building; the kitchen collapsed in a heap of charcoal timber.

Rose, Scorpius and Albus ducked, hands over their heads, more curses flying over them, and began to run, following the narrow path of caters and upturned earth, ducking around the ashy feathers left in the wake of the Transfiguration charm.

 _Don't step on a landmine,_ Rose thought, darting around the vaporised feathers. _Don't step on a landmine._

The goblins were in pursuit, and Rose felt her throat tightening from the smoke inhalation and the running. Her ears were ringing from the explosions. She aimed a curse behind her shoulder, towards the ground, and the landmines yet to be detonated went off with an earth-shuddering blast, setting off a whole chain of explosions. The force of them thrust the trio over the end of the road, sending them into the gravel. The collision made Rose's head ring. There was no sound, just the high pitch whine in her ears, a dull pounding in her head. She felt Scorpius' hand on her shoulder, dragging her upright. When Rose glanced back, she saw the cratered strip of Hogsmeade, strewn with disjointed armour and the few chunks left of the goblins' corpses.

Again, running, running out of Hogsmeade. But she was quicker now, nothing on her back, nothing to slow her down. The adrenalin was making it impossible to feel any of her injuries. This was the terrain she was built for. She spun around, aiming an Impediment Jinx at the oncoming goblins and watched them as they slowed down, as if running through water. Scorpius threw out a Stunning Spell ahead of him as yet more goblins flooded the main street from sentry points. Stunning them would be useless in their armour—Rose aimed her wand at their feet instead and yelled, " _Bombarda_!"

And whatever was left of their luck was surely working itself to its maximum capacity because not a single spell hit them.

" _Go_ ," Rose shrieked, her throat aching. They launched over the boulder where they had hidden their brooms, and in seconds, they were all up in the air, flying as high as they could to get enough distance from whichever Kobold Könige fighters were left on the street below.

As they doubled back towards the mountains, descending as they neared the tops of the trees, Rose felt her body burning with pain. Even her insides felt like they were on fire.

"I don't think I can do the walk back," she gasped.

"Follow me," Scorpius suggested, taking the lead point. The side of his head was bleeding, staining his silvery hair blood red, but he just pressed his hand tightly to it and leaned closer to his broom.

They flew to the base of the mountain, where the boundaries around Hogwarts' grounds lapsed. Once they had landed, Scorpius had Rose stay on her broom. "Just fly below the tree line, along the path."

They were walking for a while, following Scorpius, who was using his lit wand to navigate the way, occasionally laying it in his palm like a compass. Every time he removed his palm from the side of his head, more blood would flow. The sun had set, bleeding the sky out as well. It was growing increasingly dark, especially now that they were beneath the trees. They stopped once for Albus to vomit into the shrubbery, the sound of his retching disturbing loud in the damp quiet.

"Are you alright?"

"I think its all the potions," he gasped, clutching his stomach. "I dunno."

"Just…keep moving," Scorpius said, hesitating as he saw the pale sheen on Albus' face. Scorpius looked just as ill, pale white. "I'll brew us an antidote back up at the school."

"Hold on," Albus said, extracting his wand. "Let me at least heal the cut on your head."

"We need more light."

"Let me bandage it at least."

It was becoming darker and quieter the longer they retraced their path. Rose eventually had to get off her broom and walk, as the trees were growing too densely together to fly. They trudged on, brooms over shoulders. As Rose took each step, her right leg shaking, she realised it must be broken. She didn't mention it, though. Scorpius' magically bound bandages were already pink with blood. There was no time to stop and assess their injuries.

The trek was exhausting. Now that all the potions' effects had worn off, her senses felt duller and slower. She kept hearing sounds in the night that seemed distant and sinister, and would twitch towards their direction with several seconds delay. If anything attacked them now, they'd be goners.

"I'm sorry," she groaned, after a while. Her right ear was still ringing from the explosions. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Albus said weakly, stumbling behind Scorpius. "We wiped most of them out."

"We need to stop, don't we?"

"A little further," Scorpius persisted.

It was arduous now, the events of the day stretching infinitely around them. When they spotted the night sky through the treetops, the stars looked like broken glass against the black.

"There," Scorpius said, hurrying his pace. A soft, golden glow spilled out ahead, warmly lit like the afternoon sun, like firewhiskey in a shotglass. Honey heat. They moved towards it like ants, desperate and black, scurrying.

The Tree of Refuge did not have the usual blissful effects, but it did ebb the burden of their exhaustion. They clambered over its roots and used their brooms to fly straight to the hidden platform between its thickset branches.

Rose slumped over the platform, curling into a ball. Sharp pain stabbed her abdomen. She reached out to grip Albus.

"Are we going to die?"

"Probably not," Scorpius said, still sweating. "It was dangerous to mix all those potions. It's like alcohol poisoning. Here, open your mouth. _Aguamenti_."

Rose gulped down the jet of water and then rolled over again, groaning. Albus did the same, letting it dribble down his face. They waited a while before they sat up.

"What was in the crates?" Albus asked weakly.

Drawing down a deep breath, Rose opened up the little purple bag and Summoned out the matchbox-sized crates. Albus returned one of them to its proper size and the three teenagers prised off the cover.

"Oh, _merlin_ ," Scorpius whispered.

"Jackpot," Albus agreed.

It was clear where all the goblin metal had gone in the last several months. Each crate was packed with goblin armour, with a dozen breastplates, with gleaming helmets, with shields and daggers and beautifully made swords. It was an entire army's worth, and it would be valued as a small fortune. They shrunk the crates back down, hiding them in the bag once more.

"Alright," Albus said, turning his wand towards Scorpius. "Let me see your head."

"Head wounds are tricky," Scorpius replied mistrustfully, eyeing his friend's wand. "Maybe we can see Hannah—"

"You won't make it back to Hannah if I don't fix this first," Albus said, very grim. "Let me have a look."

When Albus pulled away the sodden bandages, he flinched.

"It's _really_ deep."

Blood poured over Scorpius' right eye, forcing him to squeeze it shut. "Have you done this before?"

"I've done the spell before."

"On someone's head?"

"Er…on Lily's knee."

"Yeah, you're not going to knit my skull back together," Scorpius said woozily, clamping a hand on his head again. "Sorry, but I want my brain to stay inside a cavity large enough to fit it."

"Hello!"

The three of them froze, staring at one another with wide eyes. The voice came from a woman below them. They were all too dizzy to work through the correct way to respond to this development, so Rose called back.

"Hello?"

"Rose?"

"Yes," she said, blinking at the others. She dragged herself towards the edge of the platform and looked over the side. Down on the ground, neck craned up, was a dusty, beech brown centaur. She was tall and lithe, her athletic hindquarters tensing as she moved closer to the tree trunk. She had grown so quickly that Rose hadn't realised at once who it was. "Niamh."

"Oh, Rose," Niamh cried, her silvery hair fluttering as she trotted closer. "Oh, no. Are you the one who has been mortally wounded?"

"Er, no—I don't think—Scorpius—"

"Use the sap on the tree's runes," Niamh instructed.

Rose pulled herself upright again, dragging herself towards the thick branches where the runes wrapped themselves in glowing, gold sap. She dug her fingers into the rivets, the sticky juice staining her hands a bright gold. With clumsy hands, she smudged it over the deep cut in Scorpius' head. The sticky, honey like consistency immediately hardened.

They all sighed with relief. Rose gestured to her swollen ankle and Albus pulled himself over, taking out his wand to reset it. She winced with pain as the bone cracked into place and mended.

"You probably won't be able to walk on it, still," Albus said grimly. "Not for a little while at least."

"We need to get out of the forest," Scorpius said, more urgently now. He was still looking deathly pale. "We need an antidote."

But the thought of the walk back to the forest's edge made them all the more defeated. It was hard enough to even sit upright. They heard Niamh call up to them.

"If you need a safe return then the forest will find its ways to help, although it can also hinder," Niamh called.

Scorpius muttered under his breath, "Cryptic as ever."

"Please—come down!"

It was difficult to ignore the centaur's pleading, especially when they all sensed that being caught by a centaur elder up in their most sacred site would likely cause a riot. Carefully, they mounted their broomsticks again. When they returned gingerly to the ground, Niamh was standing closer to the clearing's edges.

"Quickly," she said in a hush. "The later it gets, the more dangerous the coppice becomes."

"I'm sorry, Niamh. There's just no way we can walk back—"

But she was gesturing to the outskirts of the clearing again, almost coaxingly. Scorpius frowned, squinting into the dark, then starting. It took Rose a moment longer to notice what he had just seen.

Several thestrals were nosing their way blindly into the clearing, sniffing the air with their reptilian muzzles. They took lumbering steps towards Scorpius, poking at his stained robes. They had been following the scent of his blood, which still covered his silver hair and has splattered down his front. Rose jumped as she felt a warm tongue lick the blood and sap from her fingers.

"Ride them back to the school, and be careful," Niamh warned, her long, silver hair whispered around her face as she spoke. Maybe it was the explosions and knock to the head, but she almost glowed ethereally in the tree's light. She glanced left and right again, as if sensing something that they were too dull to notice.

"How did you know?" Albus asked, pocketing his wand and grabbing hold of the nearest thestral.

Niamh blinked at them with her large, soulful eyes. She seemed older than they did now, and sadder. Gone was her girlish cantering and gabbling talks. She moved towards the three of them hesitantly and sighed.

"You did it tonight," she said, very quietly. "The Centaurs were discussing it earlier."

"Did what?"

"Whatever it is you are meant to do in order to set the heavens in motion," she said. She took Albus by the arm and pulled him onto his thestral, helping him tuck his broomstick under his arm. "There will be more to come. The children of former enemies will unite. Quickly, you must go."

Under the unsteady weight of the thestrals they began to gallop out of the clearing, the gold light leaching away from them with each step. Niamh disappeared back into the forest clearing. Rose leaned heavily on her thestral's scaly neck and closed her eyes.

"Not very clear, are they?" Scorpius mused.

"Well, one thing's clear. We're the children of former enemies," Rose said, looking at Scorpius. And she thought of Draco back up at the school, filling in as Potion's Master. Her stomach dropped unpleasantly when she considered Scorpius having to filch antidote ingredients from him.

"So, what happens next?" Scorpius asked.

"I dunno. I don't really know enough to have a grand plan," Rose replied. "I still think we need to kill Romnuk to end the war, but maybe that's where the goblin armour will come in useful."

"Well, it looks like we've stolen their entire arsenal," Albus said. "That's got to be good for us."

"Let's keep that to ourselves for now," Scorpius decided.

There was a noise behind them, something loud snapping. The thestrals' pace came to a nervous stutter. Rose opened her eyes, wand already in her grip and twisting to search the darkness behind them. The boys had gone very still, too.

"What do you think's _in_ this forest?" Scorpius said, unnerved.

"Could be anything," Albus muttered, squinting behind him. "Might be harmless."

There was a low growl, deep and rumbling, and then their wand beams caught three sets of glowing eyes that were prowling towards them, eyes that did not look harmless. The thestrals whinnied at the sight and took off sprinting.

"What _was_ that?" Rose screamed.

"Don't wanna find out!" Albus yelled back.

Whatever it was, it was chasing them. They heard is crashing through the undergrowth, branches breaking under its weight. It snapped and growled again, sending birds scattering above them. Taking fright, their thestrals dived up into the treetops—branches whipped and scratched at their faces, almost knocking the trip off their mounts—before they found solid ground only a few moments later.

They were at the forest edge, more worse for wear than they ever could have imagined. They toppled off their frightened thestrals, their broomsticks clattering after them, and just as quickly and silently as they had arrived, the thestrals were gone.

"Oh, thank Merlin," Rose murmured, digging her nails into the ground. She sobbed into the grass once.

"We need to brew that antidote."

"I don't want to move," she said, closing her eyes tightly. Every time she opened, them, she saw double.

"Rose," Albus said unsteadily. She felt his hand on her shoulder. "Hey, c'mon, Rose."

But now that immediate danger was out of the way, all Rose could do was given into the darkness.

* * *

 _Knock. Knock. Knock knock knock._

"Bellucci brewed enough Blood-Replenishing Potion to last us a year so at least it's getting good use. Really, I'm more concerned about the toxicity of those potions. Scorpius said he wasn't even sure what they took, although he tried to list everything that he was certain of—oh, will they stop that bloody knocking? Go tell them, love. Tell them to get back to—yes, anyway, I'm worried about giving them another antidote, they took at least seven potions in one sitting. It's dangerous to—oh, she's awake."

Rose blinked her eyes slowly, and was immediately aware of how much her body hurt. Her leg throbbed, her skull felt like it had split apart. Her throat felt so sore and swollen it was hard to swallow. She was keenly aware of tenderness in her left ear, and when she reached up to touch it, it had been bandaged heavily. Was that knocking sound coming from inside her head? She dropped her arm heavily by her side again and groaned.

"You're alright, now, Rose. How do you feel?"

"Knackered," she groaned. "And sore."

"Yeah, well you took quite a beating," Hannah said, gently waving her wand's beam before Rose's eyes. There was no judgement in her tone whatsoever. In fact, she hardly even sounded concerned, "She's probably still a bit concussed, but like I said, I don't think we should be treating them with potions."

"Maybe something from Neville's greenhouses, then?" It was her mother's voice, prim and pragmatic. Merlin, Rose would be in such deep shit. Her mother would turn into a human Howler at the first possible chance. "Neville, I'm sure—"

"Yes, I have herbs they can chew on for the pain, but they'll need to be monitored for a while," came Neville's voice. "Keep a close eye on Albus. His stomach lining was beginning to disintegrate."

"Oh, Merlin, don't mention that to Ginny."

"They'll have no permanent injuries," Hannah reassured. "I just can't give them any pain relief until all of that rubbish they swallowed is out of their system."

"How long does it usually take?"

"A couple of years ago I had a seventh year take about four potions before her N.E.W.T. exams. Thought it would give her a one up, you know? Ended up in the hospital wing for forty-eight hours. But this lot should be fine. Hopefully once they get some food into them…"

Rose's vision was a bit more substantial now. The hospital wing was in view, and based on all the lit torches, it was the middle of the night. She had not been unconscious long. She tried to sit up.

"Don't push yourself," her mother said, gently easing her back. "We heard what you did."

"From who?" Rose said blearily.

"Well, we actually _heard_ it," Hannah said. "The bombs go off."

"The whole school heard it," Hermione added. "All of Hogsmeade is in smithereens."

"But also, Scorpius," Hannah added, smiling gingerly, "gave a full account. You took out a lot of goblins, didn't you? Honestly, I'm still in disbelief."

Rose blinked between the two women, her head swimming still. Was she still unconscious? This couldn't be real. Why weren't they shouting at her? Or had they just given up with reprimanding all her rogue decisions?

There was a knocking on the doors again. Rose looked over, her head still splitting with pain.

"We thought it best to hold off the visitors until we cleaned you three up," Hannah said, wincing a little. "But they've been persistent."

"Who knows?" Rose asked, shaking her head.

"The entire school, and then some. The noise woke everyone," her mother explained. "Hagrid found you three at the edge of the forest. We had to carry you in front of all the Hogsmeade resettlement to get you up to the Hospital Wing."

Professor Longbottom entered, followed by half of their family and friends, squeezing through the Hospital Wing doors. Cousins and siblings, housemates and roommates, all of which were badgering their young headmaster.

"We'll just sit by their beds if they're still asleep, we'll be quiet," Lily pleaded.

"We'll camp outside the doors, I swear," Hugo added, more as a threat.

"We're not even joking," Louis piped up last, coming to a halt beside them.

"I have to congratulate Malfoy for growing a pair before I lose all my empathy," Zabini said.

Bombarded, Professor Longbottom seemed to give up. He stood aside, letting them rush into the Hospital Wing, before closing the doors behind them and hastening over with several small pots in his hands.

"Chew these," he said, crushing herbs and handing them over to Rose. "Scorpius?"

He headed around the drawn curtain beside Rose's bed. Her boyfriend was stirring, mumbling incoherently. Albus must have been asleep in the bed opposite, where another screen was drawn. There was no time to engage with either of them. Her cousins had quickly assembled around her bed, perching themselves like odd birds in a nest. Isabella Nott, Alice Lim and Andre Zabini had also arrived, their faces drawn and worried. It was a surprising group, so surprising that Rose wasn't sure if she could take this strange collision of social circles.

"You must be mental," James said, clutching the iron bedframe. "You must have a death wish."

"Well, that's a given," Rose replied, rather dryly.

Roxanne shook her head at this, but James only barked out a laugh.

"Did you get him?" Hugo asked, leaning forward. "Romnuk?"

Rose faltered. Scorpius said that they wouldn't share the news they had stolen the goblin's arsenal, so she suspected that he had left that detail out of the story.

"No," Rose said, struggling to sit up a little. "He wasn't in Hogsmeade. We got the goblin who tortured us though."

"The one with the arrow on his forehead?" Hugo asked, his voice a little stiff.

"Yeah. We burnt him in the kitchens."

They all stared at her in wonder. The look made Rose feel nauseous. Hermione seemed to be the only one who noticed, and responded with her usual anxiety. "Oh, Scorpius didn't mention—well, that explains the soot in your lungs. We had to siphon it out."

 _That_ explained her sore throat. The herbs were still crushed in her hands. She gingerly raised them to her mouth and began to chew on them like gum. They were bitter tasting, but she felt a cool numbness spread through her throat and her temples.

"This may be stupid," James asked anxiously, his arms becoming twitchy. "But Claretta?"

Rose shook her head. She couldn't tell him what had become of her. She only sighed and said, "No body," which was at least not a lie.

"Alright," Neville said, crossing his arms. "That's enough show and tell for tonight. You've seen that they're all alive," he said, shooing Lily off the end of Rose's bed. "You can visit them all in the morning, okay?"

Everyone began to grumble, shifting off the bed and complaining as they were shunted towards the doors, but before they could be sent on their way, two new visitors had joined their number.

Astoria pushed past the group of teenagers, heading directly for the screen at the end of the hospital wing. Her face was pinched, her glossy hair severely pulled back. Hannah immediately came between the hospital screen and Scoprius' mother.

"Let me—"

"If you kick up a fuss like before—"

"I am his _mother_."

"He needs peace and rest, Astoria."

"Is that why you allowed this hullaballoo?" Draco Malfoy asked, sweeping past the Weasley Potter clan and gesturing at them in demonstration. His lip curled at Neville, his face incredibly dislikeable. "I would think you'd have their health at heart, not their social appointments."

"They were just leaving," Neville said, his face purpling with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. He began to usher the group of teenagers towards the doors once more, but they all seemed more insistent on staying than ever.

"Oh, Merlin, Scorpius," Astoria moaned, darting around the school's matron and disappearing behind his screen. "You look _dreadful_."

"I feel fine," his voice came, very irritated.

To Rose's surprise, Draco had not gone to check on his son, but had drawn very near to Rose, his eyes narrowed into slits. The expression took her aback.

"Did I not explicitly say," Draco breathed, his eyes burning, "to avoid making a fiasco?"

Rose was so stunned by this that she could only blink in surprise. She recoiled under his vehemence—for some odd reason, after his little pep talk, Rose had thought that Draco would have been on her side. If anything, she was expecting him to still have been behaving callously towards Scorpius. Hadn't he spoken of his son's cowardice with regret? Before she could compose herself, the curtain on her right was yanked aside. Scorpius was struggling to sit upright. His head was freshly bandaged, but the colour had returned to his face, which was now flushed with anger.

"Don't speak to her that way," he snapped, glaring at his father. "Not after _you_ put these ideas in her head."

Hermione looked sharply at Draco. He shook his head, staring at Rose down the bridge of his nose. "I did no such thing."

"I don't know what you told her, but it was after you spoke to her that Rose was gung-ho and ready to charge into battle."

"I thought she would be _clever_ ," Draco snarled, still glaring at Rose. "Bid her time and her resources. Be _smart_. Isn't that what her reputation rests on? How _smart_ she is."

"Honestly, Scorpius, darling, you shouldn't have even been down there," Astoria said, her voice quavering. "We need to leave. As soon as—"

" _No_ ," Scorpius said, now trying to get out of bed. Both Neville and Hannah pushed him back down. "No! None of us are leaving. We are going to fight. Even if it's stupid guerrilla tactics that Rose thought up on the whim—at least she _did_ something! What have you all done? You're the adults!"

"Scorpius, you may not _see_ clearly what—"

"I see clearly and I'm not leaving. We're adults, too, now. So, drop it, mother. I'm not going anywhere."

"I'd hope that you'd at least see sense when a short-term, idiotic suicide mission is proposed to you," Draco snapped. "What did you achieve other than exploding the village and provoking a counterattack?"

"We achieved plenty tonight!"

"Let's bring the volume down a notch—Draco, you can come back in the—"

Draco moved past Neville, his hand raised in the headmaster's face to silence him, all the while his eyes were on his son. His grey glare was piercing. The same set of eyes, like a mirror.

"You're keeping something from us."

"Stay out of my head," Scorpius replied with gritted teeth.

Draco visibly recoiled, glancing nervously at the other adults in the room. He then changed his tone, so it was haughtier and colder. "There must be a reason you're not _using_ your head, Scorpius. Especially when you went along with a risky plan that would yield no strategic results."

"I did it because I love her, okay!" Scorpius exploded. In the bed opposite, they heard Albus yelp from behind his curtains. He was evidently awake now. "I knew it was stupid and dangerous but _I love her_. I couldn't let her and Albus go into the village alone. I couldn't, not when—Merlin, you'll never let it go will you? I love her." He turned to Rose, his face burning with blood. "I love you, okay?"

"Oh," Rose said, her face very hot, too. Her head was still throbbing. "Oh...kay."

Scorpius didn't seem surprised by the lack of response. He just turned back to his parents. "I'll follow Rose into a fight any day over fleeing the country with _you_."

"Well that settles that," Hermione said, her voice very high. "That's enough excitement for the night. I think _all_ of us should leave and let these three sleep. They've had an incredibly long day."

Even as the Malfoys were putting up a protest, Hermione was grabbing them by the arms—in a very firm grip—and marching them towards the doors. The rest of their audience, all with mouths gaping, followed after them, still turning back to stare at both Scorpius and Rose. Despite all of the danger and drama, Scorpius' very loud and very uncharacteristic confession had made everyone very interested in everything other than the two Slytherins sitting opposite one another in their hospital beds. Both Neville and Hannah rounded on the now awake Albus, moving behind the sheet, as if desperate to hide.

The moment they had privacy again, Scorpius turned to Rose. "Sorry," he said quietly, looking harassed. "That wasn't—romantic or—but I do. I love you."

Rose had come very close to death several times that day, both in Hogsmeade and in the forest. Despite this, she was only then having one of those epsiodes where memories flash before one's eyes. She remembered the day she discovered Scorpius would be her prefect partner, and the dread she had felt as she waited for him in the train compartment. She remembered dancing in a New Year with him, under the star-spangled glass of his greenhouse. She remembered their first clumsy kiss by the lake outside their house, and their plunge into the same freezing lake when he stayed over at Christmas. As each memory rushed over her, duller and greyer than they had been when she first lived them through, she felt her eyes prickling painfully.

She had put Scorpius' life in danger today. Many times, in fact. She had manipulated him and Albus into finding a way to get out of the castle, on the preface that they were throwing her a birthday surprise. She had dragged him into a battle that he knew would be dangerous. Her selfishness, complete and utter selfishness, had not even deterred how he felt.

"I can't—I'm sorry," she said quietly, her voice very hoarse. "I can't say it back. I'm so sorry."

Scorpius blinked at her in rapid succession, then fell back onto his bed. "Oh."

"Please—Scorpius. Listen to me. I was in love with you. I was ridiculously in love with you. I don't know why I ever second-guessed saying it. That was stupid of me, I should have said it. I had so many chances to say it and I took them for granted. I want to still be in love with you—no, don't look at me like that. You know if I could just flip a switch then I would. But I can't—I can't love anything right now. All the things I used to love d-don't even matter to me anymore. I can't eat, I can't fly, I can't study. Everything feels grey, all the time. I've been so selfish, and this feel selfish, too—but it will be worse if I lie, won't it? That would be worse? You would know, if I were lying. You can always tell. So, I'm sorry. I did love you. I honestly did. I just can't right now. I don't have anything to give you."

She had fallen in love with Scorpius Malfoy without ever really noticing, and so she had failed to ever mention it, convinced that the mentioning of it would eventually come on its own. That the sentiment wouldn't be going anywhere. That there would be time to tell him, in a moment that would seem perfect and right, not having realised that every moment that had passed between them since the previous summer had been a moment to be seized.

She had fallen out of love with him all at once. It was nothing he had done, nor was it in her power to control. All the love had been bled out of her in the months since Meredith's death. She had no room for it, no space to grow it, no courage to give it.

In the dead silence following this tortured tirade, all they heard was Albus quietly breathe: _shit_.

Scorpius looked back at her, his grey eyes very sad and very sombre. There was no wall up, just a well of deep melancholy. He nodded, and with the love of the selfless, all he said was, "I have enough love for us both."

* * *

By virtue of the fact that Albus' stomach lining had been particularly dissolved by the mix of potions they had taken, he had been forced to stay an extra few days in the Hospital Wing, while Scorpius and Rose walked free. Nothing in the world could have bothered him more—whatever emotional crises the two Slytherins were going through, they were still inexplicably bound together as a trio. Relationships aside, they could not just go their separate ways.

Being unable to act as a buffer between them both made Albus incredibly anxious. They had come up to visit him half a dozen times in the two days they had been discharged. They usually visited him separately, and once together.

The reason they visited together was to tell Albus that Professor Longbottom was taking names for those who wanted to leave Hogwarts and not return for the following year. The list was circulating, and almost all the muggleborns or half-bloods had signed it. A few purebloods had as well, mentioning that their families had homes outside of Britian where they could flee to. They explained this all with resignation, Rose mentioning that she and Hugo had already had a very long talk with her mother, and that they were staying at Hogwarts. Despite the persistent pleas of his mother, Scorpius was staying also.

They were a little cool towards each other—Rose had an expression of muted guilt whenever there was a lull in the conversation, while Scorpius always seemed to be holding back a great deal of longing. It was difficult to have a conversation with them in the same room.

Even when Rose wasn't coming up to visit Albus, she had to report at the end of each day for a counselling appointment with Hannah. It was now mandated by the school, and she had no choice in the matter. She was less resistant though, arriving promptly (for Rose, at least, for she was always a few minutes late) and coming out of Hannah's office after each session looking a little bit relieved. She always stopped by Albus' bed before she left.

"I feel dreadful that I dissolved your guts," she said, stirring his porridge miserably and frowning at his dinner tray. "How's your stomach lining?"

"Mending," Albus replied, hardly concerned. "Any trouble from the Order?"

"I think…well, I've heard talk that they want us to _join_ the Order. Although my Dad reckons that we should finish seventh year first."

"Is he being thick?" Albus frowned. "There's no point, is there? We're not going to need N.E.W.T.s."

"They think we need to be better trained first, and I have to agree," Rose sighed. She picked up the pack of exploding snap cards Lily had brought as entertainment on her last visit. Rose began to shuffle the deck. "I may be good at duelling, but both you and Scorpius did miserably against those goblins."

"Well, you weren't so crash hot performing Charms under pressure, either."

"That's my point exactly, isn't it? I think they're ready for us to fight, but they want us to be prepared."

"So no more guerrilla attacks," Albus said, smirking a little.

Rose shook her head, glancing out of the window and sighing heavily. She tucked the cards back into their cardboard box.

"You've got exams tomorrow," Albus said, remembering that tomorrow harkened in the first week of June. "You should be studying."

"What's the point? I've basically been failing all my classes these last couple of months," Rose said, but she still hauled herself off the bed. "I'll visit you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Okay," Albus agreed. He took her hand and squeezed it before she left. "Try study. Keep your mind off it."

"Mm."

Of course, Albus did get other visitors. Lily and James both came the day after the whole debacle, but they mostly wanted details about the attack. They were completely in awe, demanding Albus relive it all like a Quidditch match. It made him feel queasy. Thinking about the entire thing always made him queasy.

Scorpius was insisting that they keep the goblin armour a secret, and so they were. Clearly, armour would be the difference between winning and losing a battle against the goblins. They had struck a severe blow against the Kobold Könige by stealing the cargo. The three of them knew retaliation was coming.

"The Order is monitoring the perimeter around Hogsmeade the best they can," Scorpius said, visiting that Monday following their first exam—Transfiguration. "They know the goblins are mobilising but they can't tell what they're doing. Harry thinks they're digging. Perhaps replanting mines? No one knows. Oh—also, I think Hermione's sorted out a passage between Hogwarts and Diagon Alley. Which means if we need to evacuate, we should be able to."

"Except we won't be," Albus said, frowning.

"No," Scorpius agreed, his face very drawn. "We won't be."

Albus stared at the row of potions on his bedside table and sighed. Scorpius and Rose also had a series of potions they needed to take, but only once a day, and in much smaller doses. It was difficult being stuck in a hospital bed, when he knew Rose and Scorpius would soon be forced to make more plans—whether they wanted to talk or not.

"How're you and Rose?"

Scorpius twisted his mouth to the side and shrugged. He continued to study the small bottle of potion, squinting at Hannah's scribble along the label.

"We spoke last night before bed. She was cramming for Transfiguration which…almost feels like a positive sign."

"You're not mad at her?"

Scorpius looked back at Albus, surprised. "No," he said, shaking his head. "Of course not. She's depressed. I can't be mad with her when she's like this. I know a day will come where I won't love her and she will need to pick up the slack. So, I have to hope she'll return the favour then."

Albus didn't know what to say.

"No," Scorpius went on, placing the bottle back onto the beside table. "No, I'm only mad because she didn't say it earlier. I didn't either. I should have said it earlier. When you love someone, you should tell them."

Scorpius glanced down at his watch and stood. "I need to go. I have Arithmancy next."

"Brutal. Good luck."

He paused, leaning down to squeeze Albus' shoulder. "I love you, Albus."

Albus smiled a little. "Yeah. I love you, too."

He watched Scorpius leave the hospital wing, his hands tucked into the pockets of his robes. All of them had changed so quickly, but after Hogsmeade, it felt like the start of something. Something real. Even Rose's fallout hadn't changed that.

The one good thing about being quarantined to the hospital wing was that Albus had avoided the rumour mill churning through the entire school—whatever had gone down at Hogsmeade had spread in various versions that resembled the truth. It was hard to embellish a tale that was already so outlandish, although people made a valiant effort. There were rumours that the goblins were using Trolls to guard the pub. Others were already circulating that there was some sort of prophecy tying the three together, guiding their actions, and the Divination classes were going wild trying to puzzle out the outcome. Others thought Albus had his limbs blown off during the explosions and that's why no one had seen him since (a rumour Lily attempted to deter, but James thought was hilarious and kept encouraging, telling all the first years that his brother had both arms replaced with hooks). Eventually, he would have to face everyone, and face the grisly truth.

Whichever way they tried to spin it, Scorpius was right. They had murdered the goblins down in Hogsmeade. Whether those goblins deserved it or not really didn't matter. Whether it was offense or defence didn't matter. It felt as if the whole part of who Albus was and who he had once imagined himself to be had been violently sawn away. They had changed, so quickly, and it was the start of something terrible.

Just when Albus was growing bored of building exploding snap card houses, another visitor arrived in the hospital wing for him. He glanced up and felt his face drain of colour. As Imogen shut the door behind her, the deck of cards blasted apart, destroying his two-storey structure.

The last time he had spoken to Imogen properly was before their last Quidditch game. That argument now seemed like a thousand years ago. Any words they had shared since had been short and sniped. A part of him had been hoping they wouldn't really speak again, that they would just drift their separate ways and their friendship would dissolve as inexplicably as it had begun.

Albus shuffled the cards and slotted them back into their case. It was a tactic to avoid looking at Imogen, who was now taking the seat beside his bed.

"Hey," she said.

"Hi," Albus replied. He was forced to place the cards aside and give her his full attention. He didn't know what to say so he said, "don't you have an exam?"

"Free period for me," she said, dropping her bag onto the floor. So, she was here to stay.

"If you prefer to be studying right now, that's—"

"You must be joking," Imogen said, raising her eyebrows. "These exams don't count for anything."

"Rose feels much the same."

And there it was; the awkward silence. They stared at each other for several beats, floundering.

"You're really involved, now, aren't you?" she asked, quirking her eyebrows.

"Yeah," he replied. "I suppose it was sort of inevitable, wasn't it?"

"The prophecy rumours are true?"

"Hardly call it a prophecy," he said, scoffing. Albus paused. "You don't strike me as someone who believes in fate."

"Not at all," Imogen said, smirking a little. "I'm a sceptic."

"Of course."

"So, you'll just keep throwing yourself into harms way, then? Because you think it's your destiny?"

There was a hint of anxiety in her voice, just the trace of a betrayal. She was pursuing this line of questioning quite dogmatically.

"I think its unavoidable now, isn't it? Harm is coming from every direction. I mean, if they sort out the portal to Diagon Ally, will you run?"

Imogen hesitated for almost a minute. She chewed her lip. "Maybe."

Albus was taken by surprise. Imogen slinking back off to the muggle world was hard to imagine. She had never been one to shy away from conflict. "You're a Gryffindor. You wouldn't stay and fight?"

"This doesn't feel like my battle," Imogen said, shrugging. "I dunno. There's nothing worse than a Gryffindor that doesn't believe in the cause they're fighting for, is there?"

"Maybe," Albus echoed back, frowning.

Imogen picked her bag back up off the floor, wrapping the strap around her wrist. She seemed resigned. "Well, I wanted to make sure you were okay—that the rumours you were now an amputee were, in fact, bollocks. I suppose I'll see you once you're out of the hospital wing."

"Yeah—Imogen, hold on," Albus said, sitting up. He could feel the adrenalin pulsing through his veins and, Merlin; he had almost died this week and something as ordinary as this still got his heart racing. He kept thinking of Rose and Scorpius' big row and he knew now that if he didn't work up the courage to say what had been there the whole time, he would always consider himself a coward. "I love you."

Imogen stared at him, her tawny eyes betraying how taken aback she was. Not with surprise—this wasn't news to her. Based on the look moving across her face like the shadow of a cloud, she knew. She had known. She almost seemed affronted.

"That's a bit…full on," Albus agreed, gauging her expression. "But you've always been a very blunt person so…I love you."

Imogen slowly lowered her bag to the seat, but she didn't sit down. She blinked at him reproachfully, like a cat.

"What do you want me to do with that?" she asked softly.

"I dunno," Albus said, a little annoyed by her lack of response. "I would have regretted not telling you."

"I don't know what to say, Albus," she said, a bit huffy. "I just told you I might not be coming back next term. I don't know what the next few months will look like. And you go confess your love?"

"Well—I—"

"Even if I stay," Imogen said, her voice rising, "what'd you think would happen? The terrorism would end? That I'd magically transform into the sort of girl you'd bring home to your father?"

"You've already met my father, actually, and he was quite impressed with you," Albus mumbled.

Imogen shook her head. She was picking up her bag again, which must have been a bad sign. "Honestly, Albus, I fancy you. You're daft, but also very sweet. If you wanted something casual, sure. But I'm not promising you forevers or even tomorrow. I'm not that sort of person."

The words she was saying seemed unfathomable, somehow worse than a rejection. Although he couldn't bring himself to say it, she was a coward. It was fear of commitment that stopped her from trying to have a relationship with him. It was the same fear stopping her from staying and fighting.

"Do whatever you want," he said, his tone stony cold. "If I die tomorrow, I die with no regrets. As long as you feel the same, then whatever."

"Cool," Imogen agreed, slinging her bag onto her shoulder. "Hope you're feeling well by the end of term feast."

"Yep," Albus agreed.

He watched her leave, her long ash blonde hair swinging behind her. It felt like a brand new hole had been burned through his stomach's lining. How was Scorpius capable of being so gracious? Albus wanted to will the entire world out of existence.

* * *

A teetering tower of furniture and debris, large slabs of concrete and beams of wood made up the long stretch of wall dividing Diagon Alley. It was patrolled, twenty-four hours a day, by the active members of the Order currently living on the Leaky Cauldron side of the strip.

It was early morning, the air nippy and cool as the sun began to crawl over the tops of the destroyed shopfronts. Fred walked the perimeter of the wall, Dominique approaching from the opposite end, both with their wands ready. They looked older than before, as if they had aged several years in a short matter of months. Dominique's strawberry blonde hair was greasy and unkempt, tied back into a ponytail away from her stricken face. Fred's bulging arms were wrapped in old bandages and his clothes were unusually shabby, poorly mended where they had been ripped and torn. When they both met at the centre of the wall, they came to a halt.

Fred checked his watch, and then motioned back towards the Leaky Cauldron. They moved towards it, the shadow of the wall following them all the way to the end of the alley as the sun continued to climb behind it.

The shops that had not been completely gutted where being used as housing for goblins and civilians. The pub was being used by the Order. They were protective about anyone entering. The worry was that this single entrance into the muggle world could become the gateway to their destruction. It was constantly guarded by a rotation of Order members.

They kept their wands out as they entered the pub, weaving their way through the sleeping bags on the floor. Dominique tapered off to wake the next two on the patrolling shift.

Molly and Rowan were slumped against the front door, doing their best to keep their eyes open as they sat watch. Fred paused by the bar, filling a glass of water while he watched them. They spent most of their time as a pair, both oddly rootless without their families. Molly's parents and sister had not contacted anyone for several months—how could they, in all the calamity? How could word come or go? Rowan had no way of contacting his mother or his brothers while he was in the Leaky Cauldron. They took refuge in each other, in their constant company. Fred noticed, too, the way Rowan's hazel eyes lingered on Molly every time she left his side. That Molly always moved her sleeping bag beside his.

"All good by the wall?"

Fred was pulled from his reverie. He followed the voice and found his father, always grim these days, always dry of jokes. The double story joke shop was being used to house the goblins, an attempt to pacify them by giving them their own quarters. George and Garrett Cresswell were in charge of liaising with them, so Fred only saw his father in the evenings. Still, he got to see his mother and father. They were here, just as trapped as they were. It was the same for Dominique, who at least had both her mum and dad to be comforted by.

"Yeah, very quiet today."

"We may be running low on supplies," George said, leaning against the bar, "but Gringotts is an even poorer stronghold. Harder to break into, sure. But they don't have food. And when we run out of food, we can always get more from the muggles."

They were running out of food, and quickly. His mother had been in charge of rationing and supplies for their entire district. At each meal, they would duplicate and enlarge the food to increase the quantity—but it never quite tasted right, and once you had eaten the fiftieth copy of a chunk of bread, it was rather hard to swallow. Multiplying the food was all well for now, but as Molly had bleakly pointed out, their products would eventually spoil. There was no point multiplying rotten meat once it was rotten. Magic would only get them a few more weeks.

"We won't outlast them long though," Fred said, just as grim. "I mean, how much longer can we live like this?"

"You'd be surprised," his father replied, leaning away again.

Dominique walked over, replacing her uncle's spot at the bar. She also stuck a glass under the tap and filled it to the brim, gulping the cold water down.

After a little while, she leaned her head against the bar.

"I miss Louis," she said, her voice weak and a little whiney, like her younger self, that previously untouched version of Dom. "And Victoire. I don't even know where she and Teddy are."

"I know. I miss Roxanne," Fred agreed, running his hands over his face. His younger sister _should_ have been finishing her N.E.W.T.s, she should have been planning a silly final year prank before graduation. There was an incredibly ache in his gut, a gnawing as they waited for something to disturb their current state of chaos.

Or maybe he was just hungry.

He and Dominique glanced up as they watched Fleur enter, walking quickly and quietly through the pub until she had caught George's attention. She ushered him over. Whenever Bill or Fleur entered the room, everyone stood to attention. They were the unofficial leaders of the entire tribe, of their entire Order division. Fred and Dominique slid off their bar stools. Even Molly and Rowan looked more alert.

"I theenk zat Hermione 'as finally found a way to connect 'Ogwarts to ze pub," Fleur whispered, taking her brother-in-law's arm. "She just spoke to Bill through ze locket and she wants to test it."

"She tested in last week using a canary and it—the bird came out to us all mangled," George said, pursuing Fleur. "Shouldn't we do a few more trial runs before she goes galloping through some portal in time and space?"

Having heard this much so far, Dominique and Fred stealthily followed their parents, walking with them down the street until they reached Ollivander's abandoned shop. They stood by the shattered glass windows, listening in as Fleur and George approached Bill inside, who was still speaking into the amulet around his neck.

"I thought unless you were able to create a two-way passage…oh, right. So you can get here but you won't be able to get back."

"Well, zat won't be much use," Fleur chimed in.

Dominique and Fred leapt aside as a canary darted like a yellow arrow out of broken window of the shop and into the pale, morning sky above them. When they peered back in again, they noticed that a door, presumably leading into a storage cupboard, was open. All that was inside was black space, deep and dark, like avoid. No light penetrated it.

"Yeah, sure. How long do you reckon…right. A day or two? What if it's longer? Well, if you say it's the only way, I trust you," Bill said, then he lowered the amulet to speak to the others. The scars rippled on his face as his brow pulled into a concerned frown. "She says she will be able to get here but not get back until she works on this end to create a two-way gateway."

"Do you theenk zey will be able to function without her at Hogwarts?"

"They have Neville ad Harry," Bill said.

"Wow, I feel so much better," George replied, rolling his eyes. "Fine, if Hermione is sure, then she should do it. As long as her guts don't get lost in time and space."

They shut the cupboard door and stood back, waiting. Bill continued to clutch the amulet, his face very tense. A moment later, the door opened again, and Hermione stepped out, looking a little dizzy but otherwise completely whole and utterly unhurt by the laws of physics.

She ran her hands through her bushy hair then looked about, still blinking rapidly. She didn't embrace the others in relief or give any heartfelt soliloquies. She was already turning back to the doors.

"Alright," she said, taking out her wand. "I want this entire building vacated. No one is to disturb me. The end of term feast is a few days away and I want this door ready by then. Start organising a portkey system outside of Diagon Alley—perhaps choose a quiet muggle backstreet that might work. I have a list from Neville with all the students who have signed to go back home and not return next year to Hogwarts."

"There are children staying?" Bill said, stunned, as he took the scroll of parchment from Hermione. Dominique and Fred were just as surprised. Who would choose to stay at Hogwarts? Why would anyone give up a chance to leave the besieged grounds and escape? They thought, with concern, for their own siblings still there.

Hermione's voice was very severe. "It may be all well and good for muggleborn children to return and hide at home, but for the rest of us—where will they go? Where is still safe in our world? Hogwarts is the only home they have left. And most of them want to stay and defend it."

* * *

 **A/N: You may be able to tell in this chapter that I'm running out of steam - but that's ok, because it's almost Christmas, my favourite time of year!**

 **There's only one more chapter until this volume of the revolt ends - super excited to get there!**

 **Sorry for the typos, I tried to give this a quick proof read.**

 **Every time you send me a review, Rose slowly falls in love with Scorpius again (mean? maybe. But I thrive on critique!)**

 **Much love to you all x**


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

—CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE—

Guilt is one feeling that cannot be forgotten.

It takes up residence inside your bones, like an ache, digging deep into the marrow. It demands to be felt. Once a person feels guilty, it haunts them like a ghost.

Rose Weasley was haunted.

She felt guilty for dragging Albus and Scorpius into her outlandish antics, never sparing a thought for their safety. When she managed to abate those feelings, a sort of guilt squirmed in her at the thought of the goblins that had died under her wand. But it was easier to repress their ghosts, to bat them away like cobwebs.

The guilt that pursued her most ardently was Meredith's, and until she saw Romnuk's head roll, the scales of justice would never be balanced again.

* * *

The last Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson of the term was a revision class, which seemed stupid considering that they had finished their exams, but Professor Potter insisted on a revision class.

Although he had once commanded a hushed deference, Professor Potter was a bit less intimidating now. Students were happy to roll their eyes right in front of him when he told them to put their wands away. And Harry Potter seemed completely pleased by this, too, smirking slightly as he took a seat at his desk and bent over his own parchment.

The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs flipped open their textbooks. Their professor had them divide their offensive spells into direct and indirect attacks, and then pair them with counter-attacks and defensive spells. It was tedious work, but it kept Albus from having to look or make eye-contact with Imogen Abercrombie, which meant he was happy to do it. It was his first class back from being locked up in the hospital wing, so he sat beside Finnigan (who was as mousy as ever) to avoid the prying questions of the rest of the class.

Once some time had passed, and the majority of the students were almost complete with their task, Naomi Bones hesitantly raised her hand. "Professor," she said. "Sorry to interrupt but I—have a question."

"Yes, Ms Bones?"

"What happens now?"

"Er…well, I believe we have a short morning tea break between Defence and your elective—"

"No, sir. I meant, what happens _now_? Now that the term is ending?"

"Now that the world is ending," Finnigan murmured, very quietly, under his breath. Albus smirked, and after a breath, he also put his quill down and looked up at his father. The whole class had paused from their note taking to listen.

Harry's green eyes flashed under his circular frames. For Albus, it was different seeing his father speak to the class or speak before the Order than it was to hear him speak to his children as a father. When he was simply a dad, he was filled with quiet foreboding, with a jaded fortitude. Before a crowd, he rallied. There was no creeping exhaustion in his voice.

"Well," he said, placing his wand down. "In the practical sense, some of you will stay, others will leave. Those who sign their names to return to their families will do so this summer and will likely not return—they will likely flee the country, if they can."

There was a shift in the room as people glanced at those who had signed their names to the evacuation roster. Hogwarts' numbers would be much smaller in the following year.

"For those who stay," Harry added, "we will do our best to teach and train you so you are able to deal with the real threats out there. We will not shelter you from anything. The time for that has come and gone. And while we'll try our best to protect you, we also want to be sure that you can protect yourselves."

"But—" Caleb Macmillan piped up, raising his hand also, "what will that mean for us when we _leave_ Hogwarts?"

Albus watched his father sigh, remove his glasses, and polish them on his robes. He knew that move. It feigned thoughtful preoccupation, but it was a time old trick of his father's, a way to procrastinate as he tried to spin an answer.

"It means," Harry said, replacing his glasses, "that you will either go on the run or bunker down to fight. There's no where else to go now."

There was a nervous flutter in the classroom. When they had last spoken as a family—the five of them, around Albus' hospital bed the night before he was discharged—Harry had gone into more detail. He had explained that Bulgaria, Romania and France were preparing to fight on the United Kingdom's side against the goblins. Help from foreign governments had been long resisted when Gladstone had held office, and even now their allies acknowledged their ties with anxiety, but as Ginny had pointed out, they had little choice. Once the Kobold Könige had succeeded in England, they would turn their eyes to the rest of Europe.

But Harry said none of this to his class. Instead, he pushed his glasses up his nose and examined the room carefully.

"If you want to leave Hogwarts, please don't feel guilty over it. You have no obligation to fight. You are students, not soldiers. But if you decide to stay, your teachers and I will do _everything_ in our power to equip you to fight. I wish," he said, his voice breaking and dropping in volume, "that we weren't having to do this. You have no idea how much I wish that my children weren't in a war, but here we are. Again."

Whether he meant it figuratively or specifically, everyone's faces bounced towards Albus and then turned away again. The only eyes he felt linger were Imogen's, but he refused to look.

The bell rang shrilly. With great reluctance, students began to pack away their parchment. Harry's tone shifted easily to a brusque professionalism once more as he dismissed the class.

"Holidays aren't a time to slack off, people! Be sure to revise those counter-spells. I've almost finished marking your exams, and honestly, you lot need the revision."

Angus Finnigan anxiously stuffed his quill and inkpot back into his bag, taking off at lightening speed. There had been talk in the dormitory that he and his brother may not return after the summer—that their mum wanted them with her at home. Most of the class filed out soon after, just as busy turning over their Professor's words as they headed toward the door.

As Albus was slinging his backpack over his shoulder, a girl stopped in front of his desk. But it was the last girl in the world that he expected to stop in front of him.

"Er, can I walk with you?" Lucy Bird asked, brushing her hair behind her ears.

Albus squinted at her for a moment and nodded. He followed her from the classroom. His father raised his eyebrows at him as they passed, but then pretended to be occupied erasing the chalkboard, as if it needed to be erased by hand.

"Look, I know this is utterly out of the blue," she said, walking half a step in front of him.

It _was_. He hadn't spoken more than two words to his ex-girlfriend all year. She was a half-blood though, so maybe she was tossing up going into hiding. He had heard Lily speculate that the Bird sisters may move in with their Muggle aunt. But Albus didn't see how any of this had anything to do with him, even if his father's speech had inspired it. He followed her, still frowning, thinking he may leg it just to avoid a weird conversation. They were heading towards the courtyard, but he was trying to mentally organise an exit strategy that didn't involve jumping over the side of the viaduct.

"You see, for a while now," Lucy continued, abruptly coming to a stop and leaning against one of the courtyard's stone archways, "I've wanted to say I'm sorry."

"Oh…that's not really necessary."

"But it is," Lucy said, frowning.

She had a very serious sort of face, drawn and tired. She looked so much _older_ than the Lucy he remembered in his head, who had been full faced and petulant, the annoying girlfriend who had stuck to his side like a splinter. It was hard to imagine that relationship drama was once his biggest trepidation.

"I was really immature. See, I knew you didn't like me deep down and it hurt my ego. I only started things with Zabini to get you jealous. Ridiculously immature."

It irked Albus, suddenly, that the two girls he had shared a history with had both been swept away by André Zabini. He stopped the train of thought in its tracks, instead dredging up his own ancient culpability.

"Well—if we're doing apologies then I'm sorry I didn't end things sooner. I was a coward. I drew things out—"

But Lucy shook her head, dismissing the thought, cleanly cutting away the remnants of his lily-livered guilt. It felt like a lifetime ago, like two different people had shared a dramatic break up in the middle of the Entrance Hall, this time last year.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry," she repeated.

Sorry. The word was like a release, like the passage out of purgatory. Even though it was not Imogen who was saying it, Albus felt a burden ease in his chest. It was done now. It didn't matter anymore. You loved someone until you couldn't bear it anymore, and then years later you surprise yourself by just how easy it was to move on.

"Also," Lucy added, her eyebrows drawing together. "I'm staying next year."

"Oh."

"Yes," she said, nodding curtly. "I thought what you and Malfoy and your cousin did was really…brave. I'm going to stay, too. If what happens next is a battle, then I want to fight."

This meant more to him than he expected, especially coming from Lucy Bird. The ghost of a teenage girlfriend, someone he hardly ever knew to begin with. He had to swallow past a lump in his throat.

"Yeah. Cheers, Lucy."

She smiled before she left, touching his shoulder briefly in parting. Not in the vice grip she used to use, but softly. It reminded Albus of how free he was, and how terrifying the burden of freedom was. The choices that had to be made.

"I'll see you later Albus Severus," she said.

"Yeah…" he nodded, then paused. "Wait—what did you call me?"

* * *

Whether Harry's speech had inspired it or not, talk of leaving Hogwarts was more serious than ever. The options were only there for those fortunate enough to have the right circumstances—muggleborns had an easy ticket back into a mundane and magical-less life. As the goblins had appeared not to target the muggles whatsoever, this was a relatively safe option. On the other hand, pureblood students with houses or familial connections abroad were quick to sign their names to the list, packing bags and preparing to leave. For this reason, many Slytherins were talking of leaving—Estelle Urquart had signed her name. Sonia Selwyn was considering it. Rose always became surly when the conversation was raised, and would leave the room in a huff.

Still, as the end of term drew nearer, the question became more pressing. Isabella was more anxious than ever. She sat beside Alice on the common room's chesterfield, pouring over their results from the sixth year exams. Isabella noticed that she had done surprisingly well. All Acceptables. She had not failed a single subject. She glanced over and noticed that Alice's marks were a fair bit better than her own, but Isabella didn't care. Grades never mattered less to her in her life.

"I have enough points to get into all my N.E.W.T.s electives," Alice mused, squinting at her marks. "Still, not sure how useful that'll be."

"You're not thinking of leaving Hogwarts?" Isabella asked, broaching the topic carefully. She hadn't heard Alice speak about her decision yet, although she had always been a very private person. Mostly, Isabella wanted to discuss it, and she needed to feint interest in Alice before she could proffer her own conundrum.

"No," Alice said, folding her letter sharply. "It's not in the cards for me."

She was so definite that it took Isabella aback. She prowled her thoughts for details of Alice's life.

"But isn't your mother a half-blood? Surely you could stay with that side of the family? Go incognito."

"All my family are still in China," Alice replied shortly. "It's just my parents here. We don't exactly have the gold to flee the country."

Isabella realised for the first time what a luxury it was to have choice.

Alice frowned at her through a sidelong glance, pretending to still be looking at her Transfiguration feedback. "What about you?"

"Well—my parents are fleeing to France. I got a letter a while back saying that was the plan. We have a second home there," these words dripped with privilege, oozed with it in a way that made Isabella feel sticky with guilt. The feeling was only worsened with what she said next. "I'm going to stay though."

" _Really?"_

"Such a tone of surprise."

"Blimey, Nott—it's just that...you don't seem like one who would stay in the middle of a battle, especially when you have a clean getaway lined up."

This was exactly why Isabella felt guilty discussing this with Alice. While her roommate had only stated the facts, and had not hinted a desire to stay or go, Isabella was still keenly aware that she was throwing away the choice to escape when others didn't have the option.

But she was going to stay. And although they would have a _fit_ , she knew her parents would leave without her. It was a terrible sort of knowing, deep down in her guts that solidified everything that she knew about them. Her father had been a reckless and selfish man all his life. He had organised radical and risky assassination attempts and shifted blame over to innocent men when they backfired. He had paid off the goblin gangs hoping that this would give him immunity while others went unprotected. He was spineless, yet protected his spine above all else. He would leave his daughter behind when it came down to it, and he probably wouldn't even feel guilty.

She would send a reply with Hermione Granger through the portal. She would stay with the Malfoys and fight.

"I think I have a lot more surprises in me," Isabella told Alice, smiling a little. "I think I have a lot of fight in me, too."

"Well, I bloody hope so," Alice said. Again, her dark eyes flittered in a sidelong glance, but wouldn't stick to Isabella. "Looks like it'll just be you, me and Rose going into our seventh year."

As she said this, the stone passage way opened and Rose Weasley trundled inside. Both girls regarded her as she entered. Rose's untucked and unironed uniform hung off her body like a scarecrow's sack. Her curly red hair had become matted in the last few months so it was permanently in knots. She was regarding her own marks from her exams in her hand, the parchment crunched in her tight fingers as she squinted at the list of grades. As she passed the fireplace, she threw the sheet into the flames and stood there a moment, watching her year's academic record burn.

"Alright, Weasley?" Alice asked, aiming to sound affable.

Rose turned, coming out of her grumpy daze. She nodded, dropping her bag onto the carpet and sitting on the arm of their chesterfield.

"If either of you want to sign up to leave Hogwarts, my mum got back today," Rose said. "The portal works two ways now. Last chance to put your name down."

"We're both staying," Isabella said.

It was strange, the three girls occupying the leather chesterfield, the best position by the fireplace. It had been a difficult year for them, but they were resting on the best seats in the dungeon. They realised that there were no seventh years around. They were the oldest people in the room.

* * *

Scorpius had never been a popular person, but after the events down at Hogsmeade, he had developed a newfound respect from his peers that followed him wherever he went. He hated it.

The one thing Scorpius couldn't kick was how exhausted he always was. It was like he was carrying a heavy backpack on his shoulders, an atlas weight, and it only kept getting heavier. Everyone's hushed admiration made it worse, made the weight feel heavier to hide. Emotion was always bursting at the seams. He had never once had a problem masking how he felt, until now.

His perfect academic record sat unfurled on his bedspread, but it went ignored. Scorpius knew how very little it mattered, how all that ambition had been deflated like a balloon. He was pursuing a book with completely rapt attention, as if his life depended on it.

"We're going for a swim in the lake," Toby Fleischer said, leaning against their bedroom door. "Coming?"

Scorpius bookmarked his page in _Noxious or Nutritious: Spells to Identifying Edible Fungi, Fruits and Herbs_ and placed it aside. The invitation took him by surprise.

"Who's going?"

"Zabini, Weasley, Lim, Nott," Toby said, counting the names off his fingers. When Scorpius didn't reply at first, he added, "we finished our last day of class today, so might as well celebrate."

Scorpius didn't want to celebrate. He didn't want an invitation to swim in the lake. He wanted to sit and read his book and make notes on which edible plants were found where. But he was grateful that Rose's name was in the mix, so he got up from his bed and searched for his swimming trunks.

It was a beautiful, balmy afternoon—the kind that was rare in this part of Scotland. The fluffy clouds did not obscure the warmth of the sun; the sky was a perfect, postcard blue. Alice Lim was in a black one-piece swimming costume, a towel around her waist, waiting by the beech tree near the lake. Isabella was slapping sunscreen on her olive skin, her eyes hidden behind enormous sunglasses. Zabini was lounging on the grass in his underwear. And Rose was also there, already by the water's edge, her matted hair in a messy bun on the top of her head. She was in a pair of shorts and a mid-drift shirt, her hand shielding her eyes before she spotted Scorpius approaching with Toby, and gave them both a sweeping wave.

From this distance, the scene looked perfect. A bunch of kids on the brink of their final year of school, enjoying the last day of classes by the lake, sun kissed and ready to swim as they welcomed in the summer. It made Scorpius ache in a way that hurt his ribs, that squeezed his heart. If only he didn't have to get closer. Didn't have to see the look haunting their eyes.

"Oh, good," Alice called as Scorpius got near. "I won't be the pastiest prat here."

Isabella tossed Scorpius the bottle of sunscreen. Rose grinned half-heartedly.

"You getting in?" she asked. The flecks of gold in her blue eyes were caught by the sun.

But Scorpius stared blankly at the dark lake before shrugging.

"Not yet," he said.

"Well, I am," Isabella said, grabbing both Rose and Alice's hands. "Come on, girls."

Toby glanced at the boys timidly before trundling after the three girls, splashing in up to his waist. Scorpius and Zabini were never easy conversationalists.

Now that they were alone, Zabini sat up on the grass and dusted the clippings from his back. He smirked at Scorpius, who had remained standing beneath the beech tree, still holding the sunscreen bottle and gazing at the others in the water.

"I'm planning on getting in," Zabini said, grinning wickedly. He held up one of his dark arms. "Just working on my tan first."

"Funny," Scorpius said, throwing the bottle at his stomach and sitting down beside him. They watched as Alice got onto Isabella's shoulders and Rose on Toby Fleischer's, and they proceeded to wrestle in the shallow water, trying to knock the other pair into the lake. Their shrieks and laughter bounced off the surrounding trees on the opposite bank, sounding sinister as it echoed back to them.

Zabini's face had also fallen into a more serious state, uncharacteristic for him. He turned his attention to Scorpius, his amber eyes brazen in the sun.

"I think I have to stay," he said.

Scorpius immediately understood. Zabini had no parents to return to this summer, no family to disappear with. Although he had never known the details, Scorpius had gathered that Zabini's home life was less than idyllic. If he could have escaped abroad like the Malfoys or the Notts could, Zabini would have done it.

"What about your mother's place?" Scorpius offered. "Wasn't she living in a muggle neighbourhood? It'll be safer than staying here."

But Zabini shook his head. "Unlikely," he said, very flat. "We were living in the public housing flats near Havering. But goblins found her there a few months ago—took everything we own. They needed the money and they finally caught up with all the people who owed them."

"So the Kobold Könige know where you live," Scorpius sighed.

"Well, seeing as my mum wrote me asking for money, yes. I would bloody guess that they do."

"So going back home is not an option," Scorpius agreed. He hesitated before suggesting the next line of thought. "You're seventeen in a few months. Why not just go out there on your own? Try get out of England?"

Zabini snorted, turning back to watch the others wrestle in the water. Rose wrenched Alice down off Isabella's shoulders, causing an almighty splash. She and Toby cheered.

"I'm not smart like you, Malfoy. I wouldn't survive two weeks on my own," Zabini said. Then, after a pause, he added, "at least here, I will be fed. And who knows. We may win."

"What if you have to fight?"

"I'll do whatever I have to so I can stay alive," Zabini said.

They continued to gaze out at the lake, reflecting the forest along the bank like a distorted mirror. Scorpius couldn't remember the last time he saw students in the lake. Was it even allowed? He wasn't sure. A part of him didn't care about rules anymore. They seemed so futile.

Still, their idyllic scene was drawing up quite a crowd from the castle as students watched on in envy from the windows. It wasn't long until a few familiar Gryffindors had come down to join them.

"You have a lake party and don't invite us?" James Potter called, coming down towards the water, stripping off his school uniform as he went and discarding his clothing like a trail behind him. "You lot don't know the proper ingredients to have _fun_."

"We're having plenty of fun," Isabella called back.

"Drowning looks like it would be more fun then what you gits are up to," James hollered. Lily and Albus were hot on his heels, catching up with their brother.

"Oh, did anyone bring sunscreen?" Lily asked, looking about anxiously.

"Got you covered, little Potter," Zabini said, throwing the bottle toward her. He stood and started towards the water. "Oi, Albus Severus, convince Malfoy to have a splash about in the lake, won't you?"

"Right," Albus spluttered, his face turning pink. "Even the Slytherins are doing it? What's with this?"

"Oh, put a sock in it, Albus Severus," James huffed, taking off his socks and throwing one at his brother. He tore off down to the edge of the lake, his skinny legs covered in a layer of downy hair. The Slytherins were bracing themselves as he splashed his way towards them. "Who dares me to swim out to the Giant Squid?"

"Literally no one," Alice exclaimed.

James dived into the water and began a breaststroke. Lily finished applying her sunscreen and marched down after him, extracting her wand as if prepared already for a rescue.

With a bit of a huff, Albus joined Scorpius under the beech tree. He ruffled his black hair and sighed, staring out at the water. He gestured, bemused, at the group.

"D'you know why the _entire school_ is calling me Albus Severus?"

Scorpius shrugged. "For a laugh?"

"I don't see anyone calling you Scorpius Hyperion."

"Doesn't bother me nearly as much as it bothers you," Scorpius said, a little smug.

Albus shifted his attention elsewhere. "What inspired this?"

"I'm not sure," Scorpius said.

"Probably Rose."

Scorpius hesitated, then smiled a little and added, "Maybe."

Rose was now swimming after James, her arms cutting the still water in a strong freestyle stroke, almost catching up to her cousin. They were close to the middle of the lake already. Soon, they came to a stop, treading water. They waited for the appearance of the Giant Squid, but there was nothing.

Growing bored of the static scene, Albus turned back to his friend with a keen look in his eye. "Want to go to the library again tonight?"

It was the ideal spot to hide. Now that exams were done, the library was a ghost town. He, Rose and Albus had spent the previous night piling up books on all sorts of topics that may come in handy. Rose poured over all sorts of Defence texts, writing down useful spells and flipping through goblin riot history books that would have previously put her to sleep. Albus dedicated himself to several books on Healing, pursuing the pages with rapt attention as he took in every sort of ailment and injury known to magical kind. Scorpius, of course, systematically worked his way through several Herbology books, and even a few that covered potions—healing potions, poisons, and even a leather bound tome called _Brewing Under Bad Conditions._

For a while, when his minded drifted off, he found himself imagining a golden ballroom filled with an international selection of witches and wizards in opulent robes. Music drifted from the band on the raised platform, wafting above the excitable chatter as dignitaries and academics brushed shoulders. Rose would walk up to him, gorgeous and full faced again, her body strong, her eyes sparkling with mirth. She would take his arm and motion him towards a gaggle of old wizards, her grin stretching with pride. She would say, "Nicholas Flamel is dying to talk to you, love," and Scorpius would grow appropriately abashed, waving her away, but then Flamel would turn away from his group, his wizened eyes glittering as they took Scorpius in, and he would say, "Well done, Mister Malfoy. Your achievements in Alchemy will save many lives. They will alter the course of modern potioneering. I couldn't have done it better myself."

And that's when he would shake himself free of the fantasy—his chances of ever being in a situation like that were as likely as Nicholas Flamel rising up out of his grave.

They hardly spoke to one another while they were in the library, instead dedicating all their attention to reading until the curfew was enforced. They borrowed as many books as they could carry to their common rooms.

But Scorpius wasn't sure he could handle another night in the library, the three of them silently gathering information that may or may not save their lives. It only strengthened how desperate they all were.

"We have all summer to read," Scorpius said instead. "Let's just get through the Feast tonight and then we'll see how we go."

Albus nodded. They were dreading the end of year Feast, the fanfare and food, the announcing of the House Cup. It seemed like such a stupid way to end such a terrible year.

There was a loud splash, followed by yells from the lake's shore. Albus and Scorpius both leapt to their feet. Several enormous tentacles unfurled from the water, coiling like blind snakes and raining down a stream of droplets. Two of the tentacles wound themselves around Rose and James, who both shrieked. Lily was firing ineffectual curses. But the Giant Squid only carried the two of them some distance and deposited them with a splash closer to the riverbank, then recoiled back into the lake, never once revealing itself.

"Albus Severus, did you _see_ that?" James shrieked once he had resurfaced.

"I'm going to go check on them," Albus said, rolling his eyes.

Rose was already jogging up from the riverbank, sopping went and grinning wildly. She slapped her cousin on the back as they passed one another, greeting him with a cheeky, "Albus Severus," and leaving a wet handprint on his shirt. A moment later, she was falling down beside Scorpius under the beech tree.

"That was wicked, wasn't it?" She was still panting hard, her face lit up with the adrenalin of it.

"More like mental," Scorpius replied dryly.

"Fun," Rose corrected.

"Exhibitionistic. You just can't leave the poor creature in peace, can you?"

Rose shook her head like a wet dog, spraying water all over Scorpius. He gasped, pretending to be affronted, and complained that his hair would become frizzy. Rose grinned again, stretching her long legs out in front of her.

"Alice is staying."

"I heard her mention it," Scorpius nodded.

"Toby's staying too."

"Does it even matter?"

"Of course it matters," Rose replied, a bit curt. Seeming to regret her tone, she tried to turn it into a joke, feigning offense. "Can't have you all alone in your dormitory next year, can we? Wouldn't be fair if all your Christmases came at once."

"Zabini is staying as well."

"Oh, charming. He's going to have a real problem then. The amount of girls he can shag just got a whole lot smaller. And Imogen is leaving, isn't she?"

"I haven't asked her."

"That's what Albus Severus says, anyway," Rose shrugged. "He was rather brusque about it. Looks like they may have had a row."

She was chattier than usual. Scorpius leaned back, smiling. "Look at you, brimming with gossip."

"Well, I just got an earful down by the water from Lily," Rose admitted sheepishly. "She was desperate to unload all her information in one hit."

"Honestly…that girl would be an excellent spy."

They were silent for a few beats. He didn't dare ask her about her exam results. It looked like everyone was losing their dynamism now that the Giant Squid had come and gone. The energy by the lake was flatter, just like the water. It was getting cooler, too, as the sun moved towards the horizon. They could sense that this fleeting moment was slipping away.

"Can you be straight with me for a minute?" Rose asked, her voice straining a little.

Scorpius nodded, his brow knitting together. He was _always_ straight with her. He never lied and never shielded anything. He squared himself for whatever Rose was about to say. But even then, he remembered this tactic of hers. She was building suspense again. She was asking pointless rhetorical questions. It was the way she talked before, when the rhythms of their conversations had been different.

"You know how last year, you used to be filled with all that sacrosanct, self-righteous bullshit about being _apolitical_ and making all these cynical comments about politics and goblin rights and everything else?"

"I don't recall being a sacrosanct, self-righteous git, if that's what you're saying."

"Well, you _were_ ," Rose retorted, a little defensively, "but, I mean, everything you said turned out true, didn't it? Some of it was sort of shitty to say, but you weren't wrong about it. You spoke truth that no one wanted to hear because it was uncomfortable for us to hear it."

"And, because, it pointed out the very worst in all of us, when we wanted to only see the very best," Scorpius said dully.

"Exactly! Well, you stopped doing that."

Scorpius raised his eyebrows, a little haughtily; unsure of where Rose was going. The others were climbing up the riverbank now, collecting their towels or drying off with their wands. No one approached them under their beech tree, though. They were carefully avoided, clearly in deep conversation.

"Do you want me to be a sacrosanct, self-righteous git again? I thought that put people off?"

"Maybe not all the time," Rose said, rolling her eyes. "But I miss hearing you speak truthfully."

Scorpius hadn't stopped speaking the truth. Not once. But he had stopped speaking under the apolitical banner. That wasn't a box he could fit into anymore. He felt a heated anger at that former self, the one who stood neatly aside, just like his parents did, commentating on other people's lives like it was a Quidditch match, all the while claiming that he wasn't involved. It was impossible to be apolitical unless the politics didn't affect your life.

And he knew why people were stupidly idealistic, why they parroted whatever their elected official said. To do otherwise, to think for oneself, was terrifying. He knew that now as an adult, who had been forced to make decisions he had never wanted to make. He knew that being idealistic and letting someone else make bad decisions under optimistic promises was easier. It soothed the conscience.

He used to think people who got involved were idiots, until he had something worth fighting for, and suddenly it was worth risking every quiet comfort he had ever known.

Exasperated, Scorpius said, "What do you want my opinion on, Rose? Why ask me to be a self-righteous git?"

She drew in a deep breath and let it out again. "What happens if we lose?" she asked.

It was a simple and childish question, like the kind that she used to pose in fifth year. But it pressed on his mind, too. It was actually an incredibly heavy question.

He had to clear his head, get to the place where he was cool and detached, which was harder now that he would be on the hypothetically losing side.

"It won't matter," he decided. "If the goblins succeed, _we_ don't matter. There'll be almost no wizards or witches left in Britain. There will be no story to tell or fight to be had. The goblins will win, they will write the history books. And we will just be a footnote in them—the main story is actually theirs. It'll be about whether the Kobold Könige could create their own anarchy, could overthrow the Goblin King or not. It may take them decades."

"And it will all be for nothing."

"I tried to tell you this once," Scorpius said, his voice very dull. "Democracy is just the tyranny of the majority. It's mob mentality. Whatever the majority says is right, becomes right. It becomes the rules. They are the new majority, Rose," he said, very jaded. "That's what the Kobold Könige always wanted. And once they became the majority, they destroyed the democracy. No more system."

"You sound like a—"

"Pessimistic arsehole," Scorpius completed. Rose barked out a laugh. He had to smile too, but it was a tired smile. He was exhausted.

"We'll win though," Rose said, suddenly sure again. That gritty optimism, blindly single-minded. Her ambition in new colours, in war paint. "I don't care how many people have to die before we get there. We will win."

"There will never be a winner in this war," Scorpius said. He pushed up off the roots of the tree and held out his hand. Rose took it, and he dragged her up with him.

* * *

Guilt is slippery to wrestle with.

Shame is different. Shame is how the rest of the world sees your transgressions, how they press it into your skin like an iron-hot brand. Guilt comes from inside of you, from inside your conscience, where it is hidden. It rubs and gnaws to remind you that something is wrong, something is wrong, like a Remembrall that cannot be switched off.

As Zabini knocked against Imogen in their sweaty lavatory stall, she could still smell the wetness of the lake water in his hair and on his skin. A sea-weedy smell, stinging the air. She had watched them from the Gryffindor tower, down by the water, frolicking in the sunlight. Albus there too, in the water.

She shouldn't have to feel guilty. She shouldn't have to feel guilty. She wasn't doing anything wrong.

She came a few seconds before he did, timing it right. With her back still to him, catching their breath, he said, "I'm not leaving."

Of course he wasn't. She had thought he might stay. In all the time she had dated him, Imogen had never pried for the details. He never really pried her either. They both understood that their family situations were similar—single mothers, lower class. Maybe even for Zabini underclass, although she never broached it. So, staying seemed more attractive than leaving, even if staying could bring imminent death. Leaving would be impossible.

Imogen had a mother who loved her, and that somehow made the only difference. She would return to her flat for the summer. She had never explained to her mother that there was a war going on. It was too complicated to explain, when muggle conflict still shook the world, still reverberated through England. She would have to return, and she would have to explain that she would not be going back to school. That she would not be graduating.

The only thing Imogen ever had going for her was her brain. She was smart. Smart and very hard working. And, of course, she could do magic. Imogen's mother had been convinced that this would set her daughter apart, that this would mean that her walk in life would be easier. That she would not make the same mistakes. That she would go on to have a good education, a good career and a good life.

Why did she feel guilty for leaving? What was there to feel guilty about?

Imogen pressed her head into the stall's door, sighing heavily. She heard Zabini's trouser zip, a signal that it was time to go. They would go to the farewell Feast, and then that would be it. They would be over. If there was supposed to be wistful longing, Imogen didn't feel it.

"I'm going," she said, turning around to face him. Zabini nodded. He brushed Imogen's hair behind her ears in an affectionate way, like someone petting an animal. Then he nodded again.

They left the girls' lavatories on the second floor and headed towards the Feast.

As she crossed towards the Gryffindor table, her face still flushed and pink, she saw Albus sitting beside his sister and brother, deep in conversation. She felt her stomach sink. The reason Imogen had cultivated her lone wolf mystique was not to intrigue people or to push them away.

It was to avoid letting anyone down.

* * *

The end of year feast was a sombre affair. In fact, even the ghosts testified that it was unlike any in living memory. The food was plain and simple, the banners all turned black, the tables overcrowded by the Hogsmeade evacuees who had come in for a proper dinner. There was no House Cup given out, and no celebrations.

Rose entered and found herself filled with an immense relief. For some reason, she had expected the grand celebrations of years gone by. The coldness of the Feast stymied her guilt. She sat with Scorpius. Despite the Hall being stretched to capacity, it was quieter than ever.

Surfacing out of nowhere, Rose had a sudden memory of her fifth year's Welcome Feast, where she had first locked eyes on the mousey Meredith Maxwell. She had bobbed through the crowd with a yellow ribbon tied in her hair, the same yellow ribbon she always wore. A string of sunshine. Completely baffled at being sorted Slytherin, this muggleborn girl who had no doubt been told on the train ride to Hogwarts that the hardworking went to Hufflepuff, that the brave were in Gryffindor and the inventive found their homes in Ravenclaw.

But Meredith had been a truly unique Slytherin. She had a persistence that had driven Rose insane, a joy that lit up the whole dungeons, a sneakiness and a faithfulness and _such_ ambition. Such promise! Such wonder in those wide eyes. And not a bad bone in her body.

Professor Longbottom made a speech. He looked exhausted in the same way Scorpius did, a sort of haggard baggage that hung invisibly off his shoulders. He spoke in a dry voice. It felt like another funeral.

And he said all the things Rose was thinking. He said that they were in a war, and war was senseless, that none of them should have had to fall in this battle, not their former Headmaster, certainly not a student as young as Meredith Maxwell. Not someone so small, so sweet, so full of life. And as Professor Longbottom's words rang over their heads, Rose felt something vicious bubble up in her. It burbled with volcanic force, a heat that rushed up her neck. She felt a single, loud sob break the silence of the Hall.

Scorpius snapped towards her, his face hard and taut. His eyes were unusually full of emotion. He seized her wrist. " _Not here_ ," he hissed.

Merlin, it took everything in her. Everything. She wanted to scream. She wanted to smash every dish on the table. It was like being hit by the _Cruciatus Curse_ but somehow worse. In spite of it all, she held it in, lips trembling, Scorpius' hand still tight on her wrist as Professor Longbottom concluded.

"Another year comes to an end at Hogwarts. Many things have come to an end. Your innocence came to an end. Your childhood has ended. But each of you are still alive. Your life has not yet come to an end. So live it. Live it, cherish it, fight for it, protect it. Protect life. Live. Live, because they can't."

In the murmur following the speech, Scorpius helped Rose up over the bench and walked with her out of the Great Hall—many heads turning—her own head tucked down toward her chest, her bushy hair shielding the tears slipping off her eyelashes. Scorpius marched her through the doors, into the Entrance Hall, out into the cool night that kissed the Castle with a shy breeze. She sobbed until her ribs ache, pressing her face hard into Scorpius' chest, his robes muffling her howls. The world was wrong, and there was no way to right it. The world had ended but it continued to turn, forcing them to endure the unendurable.

When Rose leaned back, her blistering bloodshot eyes found Scorpius' wet face, and with her clumsy thumbs, she wiped away the tears on his face.

* * *

Sleep never came easy anymore. It swam in the corners of Rose's mind, mixing with distorted dream-memories that left her sweating. Her hand was always clutching her wand in a fist under her pillow. When, in the middle of the night, she felt a fist close around her wrist, her eyes flew open and her wand came out.

"Woah, Weasley," the voice said, very quiet. "Wands away."

Rose didn't put her wand away. She lit it instead; the _lumos_ spell illuminating the emerald green curtains of the beds, where the others slept. The woman in front of her was wearing a mask that had been Transfigured to resemble an ornate silver snake. But she could tell by the eyes behind the mask that it was Zelda.

This was the first time a raid was singling only one student out. Rose got out of bed groggily, pulling down her Chudley Canons t-shirt. They left the sixth year's dormitory quietly, creeping up the stone steps that led into the common room.

The Slytherin Dungeon was eerily lit, a green lantern floating near the ceiling and the flames burning low in the grate. Behind the large glass windows, the lake pressed black against the panes. All the seventh years were present, faces covered in masks. They sat in a circle around one of the larger mahogany study tables. She found the empty seat reserved for her, which was beside the one occupied by Scorpius. He was wearing his stripy blue pyjamas, his blond hair ruffled from his pillow.

Rose took the spare seat beside him, and under the table, she found his fishbone fingers and gave them a squeeze.

The serpentine masks leered at the two sixth years in a repeated pattern, glinting in the green light. They knew the seventh years well, but it was still hard to tell who was who.

Zelda withdrew a small, black book from her breast pocket. It looked familiar. She then said, "The contents of this meeting must remain secret."

The strangest déjà vu drifted over the two sixth years like a haze.

"Tomorrow we graduate," Tiberius Gallo said, from where he was joined by Zelda. They knew it was him, by his lisp and hulking shape. "Some of us will stay on the grounds, some of us will leave. Either way, you will be a part of the next group of seventh years in the chain of Slytherin's hierarchy."

"You will have noticed that we have been keeping a close eye on you both this year," Zelda said. "You will have known us by many names. Seniors. Fagmasters. The official title is Serpen."

"You must not tell anyone but the other seventh years that this is your title," Gallo added.

"We have been grooming you. We think you are both the best candidates to become the Serpent Bearers. It is your job to prepare and protect your Slytherin underlings."

"On the night following the welcome Feast of your seventh year, you will assemble your peers at two a.m. to explain your role. If any of your peers contest your role as the Serpent Bearers, you are permitted to put it to a vote on your first night as seventh-years, as long as you have two impartial witnesses present to vote."

"And what is our role, exactly?" Scorpius asked, his face very hard.

Zelda tapped a finger on the little black book. "It's all in here. On September first, just before midnight, you are allowed to open this book. Read the rules. Familiarise yourself with your duties. Then you are to call your meeting with the other seventh years."

"And we can't read it until then?" Rose asked, raising her eyebrows.

"No," Gallo replied simply.

Rose wasn't sure why she was sweating so much, but she was. She could smell the musky odour of her perspiration gathering under her armpits. Scorpius spoke with the same measured voice, unaffected.

"What will happen if we turn down the role?"

"Then you must select someone to take your place," Zelda replied.

Zelda slid the little black book across to them. Hesitantly, Rose picked it up. It was covered in old but pristine leather, the front lightly embossed with Slytherin's crest. It looked old, but otherwise, nondescript. She quickly handed it to Scorpius.

"This isn't fun and games," one of the others spoke. It sounded like Jonathan Sterling, his voice very sombre. "Don't abuse it. Don't treat it lightly."

"We did our best to prepare you two and the rest of the house," Zelda said. "To steer things back on course. But the rest is up to you."

There was a little black book, embossed in ancient leather, now tucked into Scorpius Malfoy's trunk, where it would not tempt anyone with its mysterious pages. There was a little black book that seemed to be taken seriously to the point of stupidity, yet it emanated something sinister. There was a little black book that Rose kept thinking about, certain that it contained the secrets that would purge her of every mistake she had ever made.

But like everything to do with Slytherin, it was buried in the deep, in the dark, where it would not be stirred until it had to be, until it was ready, until _they_ were ready.

* * *

The final day of term had arrived, and many were saying goodbye to Hogwarts with an air of pained finality. A few of the fourth and fifth years were crying, much to the annoyance of Lily, Louis and Hugo, all of whom had made it clear they were staying. Many of the seventh years were wondering what would happen to all of the eleven year olds across the country that would be turning eleven—there would be no wands bought, no magical training, no learning to control their powers. Some speculated that their parents would have to tutor them, the way it was back in the days before Hogwarts. But there was an unease about all the muggleborn children—the children like Meredith—who would grow up in the dark, without understanding the strange and sometimes dangerous things that happened around them.

But concern about these children was never held for very long—everyone seemed more concerned about themselves, to get out while they could. The vast majority of the students had signed up to leave in the Great Hall, forming a long queue with their trunks and birdcages beside them. They were waiting to enter the chamber off to the left of the staff table, where the two-way gateway was set up.

All the Potter and Weasley children were there, standing in front of Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, surveying the room in a silent vigil. It was odd to watch people they knew so well leave, and perhaps see them for the last time.

As they stood in their silent rows, Angus Finnigan sprinted up to them. He brushed his sandy hair from his face and stared both Albus and Rose right in the eyes.

"I'm staying," he said. "My little brother's going home to Ireland to be with my mam next year, but I'm staying."

"Oh," Rose said, her eyes lighting up a little. "That's—well, I suppose it's good news for us."

Albus clapped Angus hard on the shoulder, his face drawn with emotion. "I'm glad to hear it, Angus."

And it was surprising who chose to stay, and that those who did all filed past the Potters and Weasleys, nodding with respect, or else mentioning that they would be there in the year that came, whatever was to come with it. Harry shook all of their hands personally.

When Scorpius entered the Hall, hands in pockets and eyes scanning the line, Rose took the opportunity to wave him over. His grey eyes scanned the line a final time before he walked toward them, his face very hard.

"We're losing a lot of people next year."

"Which was expected," Ron said.

"We'll have very small numbers in the classes."

The Malfoys were no where in sight, but that wasn't a bad thing. At least there were no more last ditch efforts to drag Scorpius into the line to flee the country.

"Albus Severus!"

Albus' head snapped to attention, as did the rest of his cousins and siblings. Imogen left her spot in the line, along with her bags and owl, and hastened towards him. She was already in her muggle clothes, jeans and a dark t-shirt. Her tawny eyes flickered to the rest of his clan before she motioned for him to follow her a few paces away. Huffing, Albus did.

He raised both his eyebrows, not saying anything. He could feel the eyes of his family on his back.

"I—I didn't want to leave things like they were," Imogen said.

"You're leaving. Doesn't really matter how you leave."

"Yes it does."

For once, Imogen was flustered. Her eyes skated behind his head, glancing at the line again. He wasn't sure who they were resting on. Maybe his father. "I'm sorry if I've hurt you."

Albus sighed heavily. He really didn't mind anymore. He wasn't worked up, or upset, or filled with regret. He was just ready for her to go, for his attention to be elsewhere, where it was needed. "You're forgiven," he said, completely meaning it. "Go and be safe."

She was surprised by his curtness. It widened her tawny eyes, making her look like a startled cat. Then they narrowed once more.

"Do you think I'm a coward for leaving?"

"Yes," Albus said, very bluntly.

Her brow crumpled, revealing an usual emotion for Imogen, one that he couldn't process. Whatever it was, she was upset, although he wasn't even sure why. Why did she care about his opinion, when _she_ had been so nonchalant in the hospital wing? She was always the one who cared the least.

"I thought your dad made a big speech about not feeling guilty if we chose not to fight," she said, her voice warbling.

"You're a coward for a lot of reasons."

"Okay," Imogen said, not even fighting him on it. "Alright. Well, I'm sorry if I did hurt you. And thanks. For being my mate."

"Yeah, no problem," Albus said. "Go and be safe."

He watched her stride past him, returning to her place in the line. When her back was turned, he noticed her wrist move up to her face, then away again. He was suddenly hit by intense remorse. He could hear Lily tut-tut-tutting behind him. With a groan, Albus jogged over to her, calling out as he did.

"Midge!"

She turned around, her eyes hard and glassy but her face annoyed at the sound of the nickname. She raised her eyebrows and didn't say anything.

"Sorry. You're not a coward. And even if you were, who cares? Go and be safe. I mean it."

She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. It was such an enormous display of affection from her that Albus was unsure how to react at first. When his wits returned, he squeezed her back, tighter. It was real. She was really going, and whatever was between them would go with her. After an eternity, she let him go, her face very crumpled now. She was near tears, forcing herself to push them back.

"I dunno what's going to happen next but you have my address if you ever need it," she said, gripping his arms. "Good luck. I really hope you stay alive."

"Thanks," Albus said.

Neville had turned his parchment, moving on to the sixth years, and he was calling the very first name on the top of the list. "Abercrombie," he said, gesturing at her. He stood beside the chamber door, expectant.

"I'll see you," she said, her voice throbbing with emotion. It was more than platitudes.

"I'll see you," Albus replied. He would. He was sure of it.

She dragged her trunk to the door, her shoulders slumped. After another moment's hesitation, Albus added, "Oi, Midge!"

Imogen looked back over her shoulder. Professor Longbottom was already taking her bags over the threshold of the chamber door.

"You're the most honest person I know. Will you at least tell me what the Albus Severus thing is all about?"

Imogen smiled like her old self, haughty and amused. "Ask Roxanne," she said, and then she was gone.

When Albus returned, all of his cousins and siblings pressed in to ask the usual nosy questions, compelling him to repeat exactly what he had said that was out of earshot. Of course, Albus ignored them. Instead, he refocused his attention on the eldest of the lot there, Roxanne, who had her hands deeply tucked into her robes.

"Why is everyone calling me Albus Severus? What did you have to do with it?"

Roxanne tweaked a smile and the others grinned broadly. "I needed to complete my Weasley graduation prank," she said. "I went for something understated."

"The _entire_ school went along with it?"

"Of course they did," she replied. "I'm Head Girl."

"And why _me_?"

"You lost the bet," James said, nodding towards Rose and Scorpius. "Seemed only right that you had some recompense."

Albus shook his head again, knotting his arms together and pretending to be annoyed. But everyone was laughing now, his father included, and he couldn't fault them for it. Not when there were so few reasons to laugh anymore.

Guilt cannot be forgotten. Some would try to run from it, and carry the burden with them. Some would stay and fight, to repent through blood.

But feeling guilty was not such a terrible thing.

It is the ones who do not feel guilt who become the monsters.

* * *

 **TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

 **A/N: Heck yeah! Another volume of the Revolt down! God, if I have learnt anything writing this ridiculous fanfic it's that brevity is the soul of wit and I am very bad at being brief.**

 **Thank you to Nicole and to DaftDruid for lending their time and efforts to help edit many monstrous chapters.**

 **Thank you to all of you wonderful readers for your feedback, critiques and enthusiasm for what is honestly the most ill-thought out plot with redeeming characterisation next gen fanfic you have come across. Still better than Cursed Child tho.**

 **I'm going to take a break before I start on Vol III. Check out my other fanfics until then, or peruse my tumblr for other cool stuff I'm working on right now.**

 **I'm thinking of doing a little 'The Revolt' Q &A if people are keen - drop me questions here or on tumblr, and I'll answer them in a vid :) But only if people are interested.**

 **Merry Christmas and happy holidays. However you celebrate the season, I hope that it's a lovely lead up to 2018.**

 **Van x**


	24. The Revolt Volume III

**The Revolt Volume III is now up.**

 **For those following this story, please head over to the third and final part of The Revolt.**

 **Follow me on tumblr and instagram to find out what I'm up to and occasionally hear things about this very long, very unwieldy fanfic.**

 **Much love,**

 **Van**


End file.
